Persephone
by Xaviere Jade
Summary: Do you believe in soul mates? What if you met yours in the wrong lifetime? How could you possibly connect to each other without falling into sheer madness? Now with slightly revamped early chapters: 1 to 7, 12.
1. Part I Descent: The Choice

Feel completely free to skip my blatherings. This is only really important if you're re-reading the story.

Author's Note: 3AM, Saturday March 31, 2007

I've been writing this story for three years. In that time, I've grown incredibly as a writer, a great deal of which is evident in this story. I swore to myself that I'd just finish the project and move on to something more mature and stimulating (hopefully publishable) with what I've learned. However, as I prepared Chapter 26 and searched the rest of the narrative for hints I've dropped, I simply couldn't stand the first several chapters. The style is painfully juvenile and the grammar offends me. I know that personally, I probably wouldn't read more than a chapter or two before writing Persephone off completely. I want to gather new readers as well as retain old readers. I also wish to improve their experience.

Although the poor quality has bothered me for a long time, I didn't have the original files. I recently discovered that you can copy and paste from which I previously couldn't do.

So…I finally decided to give these early chapters a quick once over. I've primarily corrected grammar and style, though I am also correcting early content errors and making additions or deletions. I'm trying to marry this style and characterization with the work in later chapters. I don't have a lot of time to spend, and my primary concern is finishing the story. We still have a long way to go, and I promised I would. So I've only done a rough second treatment.

With that information in mind, I must ask new readers to go a little easy on this juvenile baby of mine, noting that the style shifts and improves as the work progresses. Whether you're an old reader or a new one, I hope you enjoy. Let me also say, I love constructive criticism. Thanks for reading!

Disclaimer: For fun, not profit. I don't any recognizable characters from The Labyrinth.

Persephone 1:

The Choice

Four year old Toby Williams sat on the floor in his room, playing with his toys. He had been banished there by his mother, even though he had admitted to snitching the cookies before dinner. He had told the truth, and still gotten punished, which made even the gooey deliciousness of rainbow chocolate chips completely worthless. Sometimes, being the youngest child wasn't as easy as older siblings suggested, but he kept those thoughts to himself.

Silently, Sarah watched him from the doorway. "In trouble again?"

"Yes," he replied without raising his eyes to her. Dimly, he noticed the frayed cuffs of her light jeans against his sister's ankles. He wondered if they tickled.

Sarah sat down on the floor next to him, with the aloof sigh she thought suggest competence and knowledge befitting a big sister. It worked on Toby anyway; she adored his gap-toothed smile. "She's like that some times." She gestured to the large mess of blocks and action figures. "What are you playing?"

Gingerly moving each lower leg with his fists, Toby walked Lancelot through the mess of blocks; a mess Sarah realized was not a mess, but a carefully constructed maze. "Getting lost," he said sourly.

Her eyes widened, expanding even at the pupils. "Oh Toby."

"Was it real?" her little brother asked.

"In a way," she replied guardedly, leaning closer and twirling a lock of hair around her pointer finger. They never spoke of their adventures. Though she told him plenty of fantastical stories, Sarah had long doubted he remembered anything.

The little boy made Lancelot kick a block away, then forced down a whole section of maze walls. "I wanna go back."

"Toby . . . why?" She might have wanted to share her adventures with him, to cultivate his imagination certainly, but Sarah knew better now. She could keep Toby far safer without magic in his life.

"I wanna do what I want, and have adventures, and not get in trouble."

'_So like me . . . .'_ she thought, noticing her reflection in his pupils in more ways than one, but said firmly: "It's not a good enough reason. Some of it was wonderful, but I learned that it's better to be here and know that it's always there." '_Clearly delineated_,' she added mentally. Sarah rubbed his head, admiring the way his hair mussed without frizzing with pride and jealousy, but the action didn't bring the usual smile to his pudgy cheeks.

"I don't care," Toby pouted in the Williams' tradition. "I wanna go back."

"You don't." Carefully, Sarah lifted the broken maze walls off the speckled carpet, rearranging them in a neat stack. She kissed the top of his head. "Just do the best you can in here; she might not be so harsh."

"I wanna." He pushed Sarah's tower over before reconstructing the walls of the maze. "I do," Toby whispered to himself, thinking no one could hear.

XXXX

But of course, someone could hear- someone who could always hear- and was frequently listening. Jareth, the Goblin King had been watching Sarah and her brother. He lounged on his throne, one boot tossed casually over the other as if he had nothing better to do in the world then play fly on the wall. "Interesting," he murmured, gazing into the crystal, focused on the boy's visage, instead of his sister's- the perfect enticement.

XXXX

Sarah looked at herself in the mirror, thinking about what Toby had said. How much had she really changed? She thought she had grown up some in the nearly two years since her first journey into the Labyrinth. She knew people thought she had grown up, but they were wrong about how precisely it had happened. She hadn't given up her fantasies, she just had mixed them with other things. There were many times when people swore she was as stuck in the real world as any teenaged girl, but they couldn't see inside her head. There, she kept all her dreams alive, nourishing them frequently. Her horizons broadened rather than diminished. She went on dates occasionally now and a tender boyfriend made her smile, but she still devoured books on lazy Saturdays. When she went to the park, she wrote poems or drew instead of acting…usually. Though when she acted, she chose often more main-stream literature; fantasy remained well-represented in her tastes. Internally, very little changed, she just fit better with the external world.

XXXX

Unbeknownst to Sarah, Toby sat in his room, the toys still covering the floor muttering, "I wish . . . . I wish . . . ." but he lacked the conviction to say anymore. Instead, he built new turns in the maze, placing monsters around the bends, Cyclops and centaurs from Sarah's stories. He constructed a bridge, imagining the deep chasm yawning beneath. Slowly, Lancelot toed-up to the pass…

"Toby are you cleaning your room?!?" Karen hollered from downstairs.

Angered, Toby began throwing the blocks back into the box. The maze was stupid anyway; besides, centaurs weren't real. "I wish I _could_ be taken away from here, right now," he growled, enjoying the satisfying woody plunk of block on block.

XXXX

"Say it! Say it!" a not-so far away goblin mob chanted as one.

"No good." The Goblin King waved his hand impatiently before bringing it to his brow, rubbing a headache from his temples.

Further back in the crowd, not all of the goblins had heard him. One of the rare female goblins, a plump leathery woman who called herself Gilda though she'd long forgotten who gave her the name, turned to her companion. She tugged lightly on his jerkin. "Did he say it? Shel . . . . did he say it?"

But Shel paid her no mind. "You look lovely today Lyja," he said to the human girl leaning sullenly against the wall, attempting his toothiest, most debonair smile.

Gilda eyed the girl up and down, took a sideways glance at Shel and looked back again. All lean angles and harsh shapes, the scrawny girl pursed her lips, staring unblinkingly at the king. Gilda tapped Shel's shoulder. "Did the boy say the words? Has he wished himself away?"

Shel was watching Lyja, not listening to reply. Lyja looked down at him for the barest of heartbeats before returning her full attention to the Goblin King. "He did. In a way," the goblin muttered.

Gilda tapped his shoulder harder. "Aren't you paying attention?"

Shel noticed the lack of dirt on her skirt on Lyja's rust colored skirt. "Is that a new dress?"

"It is," she bit out.

"It's very nice."

"Thanks."

She saw a look cross his eyes- the look he reserved for her. "Shel!" Gilda repeated.

"Huh?"

"Distracted?" she glared at him.

XXXX

Toby continued to throw the blocks into their box, sputtering. The sound lost its pleasing effect, yet many blocks remained on the floor. He didn't remember making the maze so large. And he was still mad. Taking the logical next step, he hurled several at the wall, half jumping back at the new crashing sound they made.

"TOBY! What was that!?! Don't you make me come up there . . . ." he could already hear her putting down soapy pans in the kitchen sink. She was coming to punish him. It wasn't fair!

The words seemed to form spontaneously under his breath. Upset and irrational, he did the one thing that came to his four year old mind "I wish the goblins would come and take me away, right now."

XXXX

Instantaneously, Sarah knew something was wrong. She heard a boom of lightening and an unexpected wind gust. A shiver trickled down her spine; besides, it just didn't feel right. She threw aside her thoughts and rushed into Toby's room. It took her only an instant to realize that he was not there. Perhaps one moment of utter silence passed, in which she heard nothing but the beating of her own racing heart. Then, the stillness shattered as a white owl broke the window, sending glass everywhere. The owl shimmered into the Goblin King before her. He shook his head and the glass shards that had dusted his hair and shoulders flew off and disappeared into slivers of light. "Hello, Sarah. Long time no see." The left side of his mouth raised in a predatory smirk.

She fought to keep from trembling; she had never expected to see him again. "Not long enough," she said, raising her chin. "What have you done?"

"Naught more than he asked, I assure you." He stepped towards her.

Sarah winced at the sound of glass crunching under his boots, grinding into the carpet. "What do you mean?"

"I granted his wish," Jareth answered, smiling slightly at her confusion.

Unfortunately, he stood just as tall she remembered. "He wished? You're lying," she sneered.

"Am I?"

She considered this, yet she did not think he could simply take a child without a wish- not by her logic anyway. Still, the situation could be saved. She squared her shoulders and took a deep, full, actor's breath. "Give him back."

"No."

Karen could come upstairs any moment. "Give him back!" she cried, glancing behind her at the doorway and staircase.

"Instead, I will make you deal, Sarah," he drawled, eternally and infuriatingly calm, patient.

"Name it." She felt her own arrogance in front of him returning. The way he acted, pompous and arrogant and smug, she had to be at least a little bit special. Maybe no one else had ever won, she didn't know. Since she lacked to time to pry, she began another tactic and tried to intimidate him. Taking one step towards him took all of her gumption. "I can beat your Labyrinth. Despite whatever improvements you may have made."

"Keep your personal fantasies alive girl, but do listen to my proposition..."

Intimidating him quickly proved impossible. She stamped her foot, stammering, "But those are the rules. That's how it's done! It isn't . . . ."

"Fair?" he taunted, raising an eyebrow.

"Well . . . ." she amended reddening, ashamed of returning to such a childish mantra, again and again, despite the deep personal growth she'd claimed less than an hour ago.

"No," Jareth snarled, then lowered his voice to a tantalizing whisper. He watched her strain to hear with feline delight. "You are outside the bounds of the game. The rules no longer apply."

"That's . . . ." she bit her lip, realizing the utter stupidity of repeating herself before the words tumbled forth. Sarah closed her mouth.

He closed the gap between them, ignoring the glass shards he scattered across the rug. She watched him without retreating, though the pulse fluttered in her throat. Slyly, he placed a hand on each shoulder, pinning her down. Jareth kept his voice low, "You forfeited your right to those particular _rules_ when you . . . ."

Glass littered the floor. Sarah batted his hands away, wishing she had grown more or at least wore shoes. "Won," she chocked.

He waved a gloved hand non-chalantly. "However you want to put it."

She retreated one step. "What's your offer then?"

He had baited and set the trap, now to spring it. Letting the silence hover before speaking, he clasped his hands before his chest. "Offer me yourself in exchange for your brother."

Her jaw dropped; no words came forth.

Jareth weighed an crystal option in each gloved hand. "Come with me; set Toby free. Otherwise . . . ." She didn't need to know she only had one choice- though perhaps she did already.

" . . . . I'll never see him again," she whispered with the full weight of her fairytale knowledge pressing against her ribcage.

"Precisely."

Hurt and betrayed, both by him and her brother, she studied the king's face. "He really wanted to go? Then I won't stop him." In truth, it was more to make herself feel better; they both knew it.

"Very well," he took her hand.

She snatched it away, just before he kissed it. "He'll be afraid. He'll regret it." She told herself she was not above pleading with the Goblin King- just to be able to run the Labyrinth. It was a bald faced lie. "Have a heart!"

"Oh, but Sarah, I do."

His words frightened her. He spoke so darkly, she couldn't hear the pain he masked with menace. "Can I talk to him?"

The king threw her a crystal. She winced as she caught it, expecting an unpleasant surprise, but nothing happened. He laughed deeply in the back of his throat. "My crystal will contact with your baby brother, but only for 52 hours. Then you will decide his fate, and yours." He wouldn't add that she decided his fate as well.

"He won't want to stay. You may . . . . get your wish," she whispered.

"Better." Forcibly, He took her hand and held it to his lips, bowed, and shimmered out of sight.

She shrank to the floor amongst the glass fragments glittering in the moonlight. Holding the crystal in one hand, she gathered Lancelot from Toby's fallen toys and hugged him to her chest. Although it was not distinctly her fault, but she still had a choice to make . . .


	2. 52 Hours

Author's Note:

This chapter has been cut, clarified and stream lined. Then I added some description and psychological action. It's rather amusing how a few years of distance can really fix the difficulties I noticed when I first wrote it. Not perfect by far, but improved.

Original, Very Out-dated Author's Note: As I, in my excitement forgot to write a disclaimer, here it is.- I do not own anyone from the Labyrinth. If I did, there would be multiple movies and a TV series and what have you. Here, I only own Lyja. The original concept for Shel and Gilda comes from my dear friend SomewhereThatsGreen. And I thank her greatly for permission to use it.

Persephone 2

Fifty Two Hours

Jareth returned to his castle, smiling gleefully. He would win as he always did, with the exception of the time soon to be remedied. In the end, Sarah's supposed victory was only a battle in their ongoing war. He bided his time well. Now, he only needed to ensure that Sarah felt sorry enough for her brother that she would make the unimaginable sacrifice, accepting life as his prisoner. Then, they could battle peacefully for eternity, though the location alone assured his victory. Granted, he never questioned his long term success anyway. She would belong to him; she belonged to him already. If he looked deep into himself, he casually observed a bit of guilt. But he was the Goblin King, with no need for soul searching; he'd done enough brooding the first time after she left. Jareth reclined on his throne lost in thought, waiting for his plan to unfurl, leaving the frightened human boy in the center of the room and an advancing circle of curious goblins.

XXXX

Toby looked around, trying to make sense of the goblin faces leering at him. Some sported pointy snouts, droopy ears, pudgy fingers or vicious teeth, yet they all looked distinctively different. Children never found the Labyrinth twice, so none could make sense of the wrinkly creatures. Likewise, Toby told himself, the goblins must be almost as afraid of him as he was of them; Sarah told him that about closet-monsters and nightmares. A furry faced goblin poked him and he skittered away, into the path of a scaly green one goblin. "Hi," he stammered. The other goblin stopped short to keep from hitting him.

Lyja, who had been walking behind him nearly lost her balance to avoid collision. "Stupid human brat!"

"He's just a boy Lyja," the goblin said.

"And a sniveling one at that," she retorted, pushing Toby down as she passed.

Gilda came to Toby's side and helped him up. "Don't be cruel Lyja."

Lyja settled into a dark corner closer to the throne, but Gilda could see that she rolled her eyes.

"Is this what it's always like?" Toby asked quietly.

"Well . . . ." Gilda began.

"Yes," Jareth's voice carried across the noisy throne room. He needed the boy to think it was terrible here.

Toby looked uneasy. "What do we do with him, your Majesty?" one of the goblins questioned.

"He is too big to go with the others," another added.

Jareth gestured to several of the goblins. "Take him to a room in the north tower."

Gilda looked worried, and took the boys hand. "The north tower my lord?" her voice quavered as she spoke, but she squeezed Toby's hand.

His mismatched eyes flared. "Do you dare to question my judgment?"

Gilda hastily retreated, shaking her head firmly. She, Shel and the other goblins climbed the stairs to the north tower.

"It is the only way to get her here," the Goblin King murmured. No one present had any doubts as to who she was.

50 HOURS

Sarah's mind reeled, attempting to overcome the shock, but there was no over coming it. Her brother disappeared, she couldn't imagine what was happening and the only way to get him back was to go with the Goblin King- quite possibly more terrifying than trying to explain to her parents where there son had gone. Her parents! She paled. She had 52 hours or an eternity to explain away. Just now, they sat together downstairs watching TV. Karen seemed to have taken the eerie silence emanating from Toby's room to mean her son was dealing with his punishment without a tantrum and cleaning as best he could and gone back downstairs. Dinner simmered on the stove, creating the perfect picture of tranquil domestic life. How wrong she was.

At least she could talk to Toby. Sarah wrinkled her face at the crystal orb, turning it in her hands. She imitated what Jareth had done when he had given her the dream crystal, spoke to it, and even poking it like a phone, but to no avail. The crystal ball remained silent and clear. Finally, she tried throwing it across the room. Like Toby's window the sphere shattered into a thousand pieces and fell amongst the window shards, impossible to differentiate. She knelt to gather up the crystal, but it was too mixed in with the glass. A stray splinter cut her hand, and she stuck it in her mouth abandoning her search. Just in time, really.

"What just happened?" Karen snapped from the bottom of the stairs. Washing dishes always rubbed frayed her nerves.

Sarah slipped around the door frame, careful to close it so her step-mother couldn't see into the room. She held her finger to her lips, "Shh! Toby's asleep."

"So early? He hates to go to bed."

"Well, he was upset. I told him a story and he dropped right off," Sarah replied as nonchalantly as possible. The way she twirled her thumbs looked completely guilty to her, but Karen didn't notice.

Her eyes widened. "Just like that?"

"Sometimes it's simple," she said. "_As if," _she thought. Her situation was anything but simple.

"Well, it being the start of April break tomorrow, I suppose you'll want to sleep late."

Sarah hadn't remembered that in her new found predicament. It would make hiding Toby's disappearance a little easier, just until she found out what to do. The possibilities made her stomach churn. "And Toby too."

"_We'll_ be off to work early in the morning, so I won't see you."

"Great! . . . I mean okay," she covered quickly.

Karen narrowed her eyes at Sarah. Something was amiss, but Karen blamed their regrettably distant relationship. She always did. "Is something wrong Sarah? You look nervous."

"Brent didn't call me. That's all," she quipped, telling a tiny, now insignificant portion of the truth.

"Oh," Karen replied. Smile lines appeared around eyes, softening her temples. "Boys are forgetful, he'll probably call tomorrow feeling terrible about it."

"You're probably right," her step-daughter conceded. They seemed to understand each other when they talked about Brent. Karen respected the boy and encouraged Sarah's interest in him. She liked the trust and proximity. Sarah hurried on, "I'll take care of Toby in the morning, don't worry about a thing."

Mentally, she crossed her fingers while waving her real ones in a dismissive gesture. "Sarah! You're bleeding!" Karen exclaimed.

She swore mentally. "It's nothing." She could already hear his voice deep in her mind, _"Nothing? Nothing tra la la?"_ She swayed.

Karen took her hand, alternating between examining the cut and her face. "What's wrong Sarah? How did you do this?"

"I broke a window," she lied with a bitter taste in her mouth.

"Make sure you clean it up!"

"By tomorrow you won't see a thing." She pulled away and retreated up the stairs.

They couldn't pretend to be close, Karen nodded sharply. "I'd better not."

"Goodnight," Sarah said with finality and left for the sanctuary of her room.

49 HOURS

It was dark, wet, and gloomy, both an extension of the dungeon and it's own Alcatraz. The other kingdoms of the underground saddled the Goblin King with their most frightening prisoners, knowing he could hold them. Here. The north tower was the worst place in the castle for anyone, let alone a small frightened boy. But a ring of goblin guards herded him into the stench; he had no choice but to comply.

Gilda held the little boy's hand firmly, and tried her best to be comforting. She couldn't help following him, at least to provide that steadying, if unfamiliar, hand. Between the growling guards, prisoners reaching out of their cells to them and a smell that rivaled the bog of eternal stench, Gilda could do little to comfort herself.

"In there," one of the guards said, roughly pushing Toby into a tiny room, breaking Gilda's grip. The second guard shuttled her out.

It looked like a cell designed for the worst of children with barred windows and the cold bare floor. The only furniture consisted of a bed, dresser and moldy, broken toy chest. The guard slammed the door with a grunt, leaving Toby in utter darkness without even the strange woman to comfort him. This wasn't the kind of adventure he had in mind. Afraid of the dark, cold, wet, hungry and horribly alone, Toby began to cry.

40 HOURS

Morning sun light seeped through the windows into the throne room, illuminating countless hung over goblins. Lyja picked her way through the fallen bodies, neither disturbed nor amused by their antics.

"So she's coming here," Lyja sneered.

"Maybe," Shel nodded, her slimy, ever-present shadow.

"Wonderful," Lyja said sarcastically, kicking aside an empty wooden keg. A nearby goblin woke and moaned.

"Do you know her?" Shel asked, thinking that must explain her strange delight.

"Of her yes. His Majesty's obsession," her eyes wandered back to Jareth's vacant throne with a wistful smirk. She imagined the king in all his glory, beckoning to her, and continued with her work.

34 HOURS

Sarah had not slept all night, sick with worry and confusion. Consequently, when she finally tumbled into deeply troubled sleep her nightmares trapped her until past noon. Since neither Karen nor her father had woken her with news of Toby's disappearance, that much at least was under some degree of control. Then again, with the Goblin King, how could she ever be in any kind of control? She wanted to weep or scream, and caught between the two she had no idea what to do.

To occupy her mind, she cleaned up the glass from the previous night, which entered a near symbiotic relationship with Toby's rug. Despite the difficulty, the work did little to ease her mind, and she cut her hand anew.

28 HOURS

He promised himself he wouldn't watch her, but couldn't resist. He believed she would decide to come to him and save her brother, knew it really. She considered herself an idealist after all. Sarah would make the sacrifice, leaving behind her life, aboveground dreams and friends. She would feel dutifully called into his waiting arms, and he would mold her into the perfect queen in his tight embrace. Enjoying her new life, she'd grow to forget enough for simple happiness. He grinned inwardly and studied her, lying there on her bed, thinking, straining to come up with a plan, any plan, that might save her soul.

22 HOURS

Sarah left a note for her parents saying that she gone to the movies with Brent after all. They contemplated seeing a double feature the week before, so the date seemed plausible enough even though they usually didn't see each other on Tuesdays. She told them Brent's sister was watching Toby at her house, and that they would return in the morning. They would be angry at her distinct lack of proper communication and planning, but she couldn't let them find their son gone after their habitual dinner date. Let them imagine an ill conceived sleep over. She chose not to think about what they might think if she disappeared.

17 HOURS

Though she attended her mundane cleaning duties, Lyja reserved her primary attention for the king. He simply sat on his throne, watching the stupid girl for hours, like he did years ago. Dropping her window washing materials, she walked past the throne, taking care to catch his foot with as she passed, brushing her leg against the top of his boot. Without diverting his eyes from the crystal, he shoved her back down the dias steps.

Lyja smiled at his attention. "You should just forget her." He ignored her as she collected her long limbs and remounted the platform, purring, "She'll never have anything to do with you."

That got a rise out of him, but he remained in full control of the temper Lyja loved to fear. In one smooth motion he captured her wrist and twisted her fingers. The tendons behind her palm pulsed with pain; her grin widened. "Enjoying yourself?"

"I am," he said, without deigning to look at her.

"See?" she whispered, pressing as close to his ear as his grip allowed, "That's the way it's supposed to be."

He raised an eyebrow at something or other in the crystal, mocking her attempt on his attentions. "Are you ready to stop playing and return to work?"

"As if you'd ever get anything from her."

"What!" he stood abruptly, throwing her to the floor in a heap.

"You'd get it from me," she promised, spreading her legs before even attempting to stand.

"Disgusting girl," he sneered, knocking her foot from beneath her. "I have no want of anything from you. You were sent as a servant, so do your work." His anger only made him more handsome. Caught in the moment, she forgot her acidic tongue. Before she could retort, his magic banished her to a distant task she left laying neglected.

Jareth sat back down and let his head fall into his hands. Soon, Sarah would be here. Her brother's screams would ensure that. The ends would justify the means.

9 HOURS

Sarah snuck back into the house after her parents had left for work, practically tasting their painful disappointment in her organization, though the response to her note lacked the venom she expected from Karen. Her step-mother readily accepted a certain degree of normal adolescent incompetence. But Sarah couldn't think about that. She tried to tidy the house and make herself useful. The ability to concentrate on homework escaped her. She could do nothing but wait for the Goblin King to arrive, and prepare to negotiate then.


	3. Terms

**Updated Author's Note:** Well, it's a little better. Basically supped up and mostly de-Hemingwayed the dialogue. I added the missing actions that were going on in my head the first time around, made the speakers more clear and altered most all Jareth's dialogue. There was nothing wrong with his voice, it just didn't match the later stuff.

Persephone 3

Terms

She didn't have long to wait. An hour before the appointed time he simply appeared in her room, leaning over her as she read. Despite her inability to concentrate on the text, she took a full second to recognize his presence. "Good evening Sarah," he drawled.

Startled, she quickly pulled herself into a sitting position to feel less vulnerable, but to no particular avail. "You're early," she said, already trying to sound defiant, he observed.

"Am I?" he smirked, studying the light reflecting through her dark hair. He sat beside her without sinking into the twin mattress. "Have you decided?"

He looked terribly out of place, like a bizarre overflow of evil on the pink comforter and castle canopy bed. Sarah shook her head to clear it, evading the possessing arm he nearly wrapped around her shoulders. She swallowed hard. "I haven't talked to Toby yet."

On the second attempt, he captured her in his perverted embrace. "I gave you a crystal." His fingertips drummed against her shoulder blade.

He made her feel like the worst of naughty students; Sarah hated being scolded. His touch practically burned through her shirt. Hastily, she stood and pulled away. "I broke it."

"I see."

"Can I talk to him now then?"

He adored the delicate taste of her defiance singeing his mouth. "As you wish." Holding a crystal out to her in his palm, he refused to let her take it.

"Toby?" Sarah questioned, her eyes on the Goblin King. Her brother's image shocked her when he appeared in the sphere. His face was smudged with dirt and bruised; tears stained his greasy cheeks. She glared at the monster, but Jareth merely held her gaze, looking amused if his mask of face could be said to show any emotion at all. The expression sickened her; she had couldn't help but look away. Jareth grinned inwardly; if she could not stare him down then no one could.

The little boy glanced around in the darkness, as if searching for a hidden tormentor lurking there. "Sarah? Sarah I'm scared," her brother's voice trembled.

Her eyes hurt in sympathy as she studied his pale face. "I know Toby."

He wiped a muddy tear off his cheek, more repentant than she'd ever seen him before. "I'm not sure going away was a good idea," he whispered.

"You just decided things to quickly, like I did." How can eternity to a child?

The hope in his bright eyes twisted her stomach as he asked her for forgiveness, thinking she held the power to absolve him. "But, can I come home now?"

Sarah made a small noise in the back of her throat, like a mouse trodden beneath a boot heal. The Goblin King tried to hide his pleased smirk. The boy played his part beautifully, without any knowledge of just what he asked his sister to do; the emotions of children made excellent pawns. He tapped Sarah's shoulder, stealing her attention. Softly, gently, delicately he said, "You know my price, Sarah."

Backing away, she shook her head. "Toby, I'm sorry you can't."

"Why Sarah?" He wrinkled his lower lip.

"You made a choice Toby," she said, trying to articulate finality, that his mistake cost him everything. But how can you say that to a four year old child, or your adored little brother?

"But Sarah, I . . . ."

"I can't Toby," the Goblin King remained on her bed, tracking her movements with his strange eyes. His scrutiny stung her skin; she didn't want to imagine the fate he offered her. "You don't know what this means."

"Don't you love me Sarah?" Tears magnified his bright blue eyes.

Occasionally, he used that ploy on Karen, but this time the stakes were so much higher than a comic book at the grocery store. "Toby . . . ." she whispered. Her eyes began to mist as she turned to plead with the Goblin King. Pressing his mouth into an unyielding line, he shook head. He didn't want to see her cry, but he had to. If he let her go, . . . . he refused to think about it. He was not going to let her go. He wouldn't lose twice; he wouldn't lose her. He'd make it up to her, when she accepted his arms. "There is only one choice to be made dear Sarah," he murmured.

She hung her head, chewing her lower lip. "Can I bring some things with me?"

The king stood, moving swiftly to her side. He reached for her hand. "You will never lack for anything."

Sarah snatched it away. "Can I?" she asked again, the slightest trace of fire burning through her tears.

He waved a hand at the mortal mess in her bedroom. "Well, what do you want?"

"Clothes, books, mementos," ignoring her tears, Sarah shrugged as if planning for a weekend camping trip, "after all, forever is a long time."

"Not at all," he whispered, nodding sharply. "Take what you will, but be quick." He couldn't afford her any more time to think lest she back out, though he knew she wouldn't sacrifice the boy. He had won as he would always win. Even against her.

The little boy's confused face hung in the floating crystal. "Toby, may I take Lancelot with me?" she asked, clutching the bear. The toy hadn't left her side since Toby forgot him on the floor amidst the ruins of his block maze.

If anything, his puzzlement increased. "Yes, but . . . what?" he stammered, holding his head sideways.

"Don't worry about me," she sniffed, dabbing at her eyes.

He bit his lip just as she had. "Sarah, what are you talking about?" his youthful voice quavered.

"I love you, always and forever," she whispered, pushing the crystal away as she turned to hide the full onslaught of weeping. Jareth vanished the orb, mentally cursing any child to whom she would say such things. Sniveling, she pulled drawers out from her bureau, packed her favorite jeans, a few blouses, vacation souvenirs, photographs, her high school year book; meager treasures she could never find again in any world. She choose nothing vaguely reminiscent of a fairy tale. She turned to the king, squaring her shoulders as best she could. "I'm ready."

"Good," Jareth's feral smile revealed his canine teeth. He stepped to her side, capturing her wrist in one fluid motion, no longer playing. Sarah pulled hard against him; he let her struggle for a moment before wrenching her into his arms.

She shrieked, peripherally wishing someone would hear and come to her rescue. "Let me go! Don't . . . ." In response, he wrapped his arms securely around her waist. She squirmed in his iron clad embrace.

"Dearest, you'd best relax," he warned. She wanted to slap him, but suddenly the room around them swirled into non-descript color. She felt as if they flew- everywhere around her freefall loomed. She clung tight to the only stable point in the moment. He rather enjoyed her proximity.

XXXX

Slowly, the world came back into focus. Jareth looked down to find Sarah clinging to him, on tip toe with her arms wrapped around his neck and her eyes squeezed closed. Much as he didn't want to, he loosened his grip on her. She jumped away, swaying slightly as she looked around. Closing on her again, he pushed a stand of chocolate brown hair away from her eyes, murmuring low in his throat, "Welcome home Sarah."

"This isn't my home," she snapped, blinking furiously.

"Come, but it is . . . you will grow accustomed my castle and your king." The expression on his face and joviality in his voice turned her stomach.

"I won't."

He studied her: trapped between terror and antagonism, but ever so fragile. Delicate and exquisitely wrought at once, her dualism fascinated him. "We best take a moment to discuss the terms of our arrangement," he drawled, casually licking his lower lip.

"Terms?" Wasn't the situation bad enough already? Though truthfully, she admitted she didn't know how bad it was. Her face blanched.

"I would truly hate to take your brother back." He spoke only the truth.

Sarah pursed her lips, watching him circle her, hunting for weakness. Straightening her spine, she tried to exude confidence. "What terms are we talking about?"

He captured her shoulders from behind, leaving her back painfully vulnerable. He breathed his damning words hot against her neck, "I am grooming you for my arm, as queen."

She shivered. "Not happening."

"In time Sarah. Never forget, we have plenty of that." One gloved finger trailed around the curve of her ear.

"Dream on." Both her voice and her body tremored.

Jareth released her, mentally cursing himself for his lack of control. The victor must wait to enjoy his spoils, especially having won only one of many foreseen battles. "For now, simply stated, you will abide my rules." He found himself irritated by her blunt attitude, but he missed that. He paced around her; she tracked his movement with her eyes, like a frightened deer deciding to stand up to the wolf. But her face dared him to explain himself. Jareth inhaled slowly before he spoke. "You will live in the castle. You will take meals and such with me when I choose to have you. You will not leave the castle alone. You will not run away."

"And such?" she interrupted his tirade.

He whipped round to face her. "You will ask my permission before you do things, and . . . ." he pronounced every word separately, "You . . . will . . . never . . . defy . . . me."

Her faced crumbled into something between horror and outrage. "What am I, your prisoner? Your PET!"

"No Sarah, so much more." Jareth stepped closer to her. "We shall consider you my guest."

"Fine. What about my terms?" She backed away, uneasy about the lack of space between them and grateful for the open chamber.

He raised an arched eyebrow. "You have no position to negotiate my dear."

"I think I do." If she didn't, then she had already lost. Though she did not know why, he wanted her, which gave her some miniscule degree of power.

Jareth tossed his head, sending his mane of blond spikes dancing around his face and eyes. "Is everything you could ever want not enough?" He lowered his chin to stare her down from his superior height. "Or must we bring your brother back into this?"

Sarah closed her eyes, willing the nightmare to disappear, desperately hoping to wake up… "No."

"To which question?" he taunted, circling her once more.

Tears welled up again as her eyelids fluttered open. "Both of them." Sarah rubbed her eyes with the back of her wrist to stop the ridiculous weeping. Crying slowed her down, but she could hardly control it.

Standing behind her with his hands on his hips, he gloated over his prize. Simply enough, she deserved to know where her allegiance must lie. His heart held pride rather than pity. "Well now, do you agree to abide by my terms?"

His one sided smirk brought a new wave nausea. "I don't have a choice do I?"

"Yes or no?," the king snapped before lowering his voice to the dangerous whisper that made the hair on her neck rise. "Do keep in mind the eternal weight of your answer."

"Yes. I agree," her eyes found the floor. She counted the cracks in the tile.

He wove a spell between his palms while she wasn't looking. Crystals danced over his gloves. "And you are bound by your word," he prompted gently.

"Yes," she sighed. The spiraling orbs vanished into the empty air.

"Now I will show you to your room." He offered his hand to her, but she refused take it or raise her eyes. Sarah didn't think he would try to pull her close again, but with the Goblin King, she never could tell. His voice interrupted her thoughts, "This way."

He led her down a maze of corridors. She didn't really try to keep track of them; she knew it would make her head spin. Dizziness already pressed against her skull. The Goblin King halted outside a grand carved mahogany door, motioning her forward and opening the door with the same wave of his hand. Sarah pushed past him, eager to escape. She stepped into the room and stopped, spellbound. As she looked around, Jareth caused a few of the other doors in the apartment to shut and lock.

The room was black, completely and utterly so. Not that it wasn't well lit, currently covered windows and lamps kept the shadows at bay. It was a large room, with several doors extending off it. In the center of the far side a black marble fireplace loomed. Opposite that, a commanding mahogany four poster with satin sheets and velvet hangings. The rug was ankle deep, and like everything in the room, black. Sarah gasped; her heart sped with panic. This was a chamber fit for the Goblin King himself.

He stood in the threshold of the door behind her, muttering, "This will never do. I happen to like brooding darkness, though it will not suit you . . . . What is your favorite color little Sarah?"

She couldn't even think of the real answer with so much subtext at stake. "I don't know, maybe green."

"Like your eyes?" His flashed on her visage.

She shrugged, tapping an anxious foot. "I suppose so."

"Never mind, I will choose for you."

"Choose what?" she stammered.

Without answering, Jareth waved his hand again, sending the room into a cascade of color. She saw it cycle through reds and whites before she shut her eyes to keep from getting dizzy. "There, fit for a princess, or a queen," he smirked.

Sarah looked around. The color scheme in the room had changed, now it was in hues of rich purple and blue. "Thanks," she said dryly, feeling the weight of some of her suspicions lift.

"Think nothing of it."

Sarah crossed the room, resting her parcel on a chair. Dimly, she noticed that his wrapt attention from the doorway. At that moment, she hated him more than anything else in the world. He, who had just torn her life apart…again. Sarah turned her back on him, half begging and half spitting. "Do you mind?"

"Mind what Sarah?"

"Leaving," she hissed through clenched teeth, staring at the curtained window.

He raised an eyebrow. "I will leave you, yes. But keep in mind the rare occurrence when you may order me about in my own castle." She ignored him. He watched her a moment longer, before leaving the room.

As soon as he had left, Sarah flopped onto the massive bed. Though she hadn't succeeded, she had been so determined not to cry before the Goblin King, but now her tears became too much to contain at all. Clutching Lancelot to her chest, she sobbed into the bear's fur, embracing the only available familiarity.

Jareth lingered outside her room without needing to watch her. The Goblin King listened as she cried herself to sleep.


	4. A Midnight Chat and A Midday Encounter

4/6/2007 Update: Lots of voice changes and addition of actions, imagery and inner monologue. And oh god- my original comma usage scares me.

Original Authors Note:

I still do not own these characters. Even Gilda belongs to Somewherethatsgreen, whom I graciously thank for allowing me to use her ideas and her dialogue. Many thanks too GenkiKarma.

I'm glad everyone seems to be liking this story. Thanks for the reviews, and the peach cobbler! (although Somewherethatsgreen is right, I really don't need anymore sugar, ; ) ) Here is a slightly overdue chapter. If you must, blame me for reading Unexpected Consequences, to be found on this site. Anyhow, happy reading.

Persephone 4

A Midnight Conversation and a Midday Encounter

Of course, the goblins knew that Sarah had returned. Though Jareth wasn't completely aware, she maintained something of a celebrity Underground. Hours past the time the Goblin King had heard her sobs quiet and finally retired himself, Gilda found herself searching for the young woman called Sarah. As she ascended the last set of stairs, she heard the frightened sobs and cries of the sleeping girl: "No . . .Toby! Oh Toby where are you? . . . . Toby?!"

With a quiet sigh Gilda slipped into the room. "It's not fair," she murmured. She wasn't sure what to do, but finding herself at the girl's side, she laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.

Sarah stifled a small scream, yanking the blanket up to her chin.

Gilda backed away a step. She swallowed, wringing her hands. "I'm sorry dear, I didn't mean to frighten you."

The girl took a deep breath. "It's alright, you just surprised me." She shook her head to clear it, eternally pleased to have found anyone besides the king next to her. "Though I think I'll have to get over that while I'm here."

Gilda was positive that part of the reason Sarah had been so startled was that she had not expected a diminutive woman at her bedside, but someone else entirely. They didn't even know each other; she read the girl's confusion behind her eyes. "I'm Gilda," she added, "I'm going to be assigned as your maid I think."

"Sarah," the girl shrugged, "but I suppose you knew that." Sarah glanced around the dark room, nibbling at her fingernails.

The goblin woman frowned, reading her expression and overflowing with pity. "It's really not that terrible. Granted, his Majesty can be frightening, but you'll learn to stay on his good side." Sarah shook her head, but patted the mattress beside her, eager for information. "He seems to like you very much," Gilda continued, sitting beside Sarah.

"That's what I don't understand," she wiped her tearstained face, dropping her chin to her chest.

Gilda leaned down, trying to catch the girl's expression. "What do you mean by that?"

"He has no reason to feel _that_ way," Sarah shuddered. "Not about me."

"I'm sure he does. He must see something in you that you cannot see in yourself." She remembered that time in her own life with a solemn smile. Shel made her feel special so long ago.

Sarah hugged her legs into her chest. "Then I don't _want_ to see it. He could never love me."

"You can't know that," Gilda patted the girls back gently.

"I do! He is incapable of love!" Not that she knew him; not that it mattered. "At least as I know it…"

"Everyone is capable of love dear, in one way or another."

Sarah took Lancelot off the pillow where she'd dropped him, cradling the bear against her chest. "His kind is something possessive, cruel and heartless."

"Perhaps you don't know him as well as you think." Granted, if anyone knew their king, Gilda imagined the object of his obsession must come the closest.

"I don't want to get to know him! I don't want to have anything to do with him!" she yelled. When the sound died, Sarah blushed pink, burying her head in her knees.

For a moment, the room filled with heavy silence. "I wish I could help you."

Sarah flopped back on the bed, throwing up her hands. "The only way out of this is for him to come to his senses."

"Some people don't come to there senses easily, I'm afraid. Especially men," she sighed, thinking of Shel and his infatuation with a woman who would never love him. Lyja barely bothered with a second glance at Shel; the king never wasted a glance on her.

"He hasn't got any." She stared at the vaulted ceiling, wishing there were cracks to count to help her fall asleep. She couldn't imagine lying here night after night, forever.

"Some men don't."

Sarah bit her lip. "I hate him."

Gilda shook her head, patting the girl's shoulder and wishing she could do more to comfort her. "For your sake, I hope you can learn _not_ to hate him."

"It's not fair! I shouldn't have to." Since the initial shock, she refused to blame herself, even for a childish mantra- though the other woman did have a point.

"You're right dear, a lot of things aren't fair." She regarded Sarah a moment, scrutinizing her face as the memories filtered into place. "Remember, you've been here before."

"To rescue my idiot brother," Sarah snapped. Her face paled and more tears came to her eyes, "I didn't mean that."

She saw the exquisite pain in every line of the child's face. "I know. You came here to save your brother; his Majesty let you go. But I should warn you, when he wants something, he gets it. After he lost you, he was never quite the same. He was bitter and no one could go near him," Gilda mused.

"He was upset by me?" Sarah wrinkled her nose, contorting her face in confusion.

"More than I've ever seen. There are few who have beaten him," the other woman stared into space. Sarah couldn't read her expression. Gilda snapped back, continuing, "His Majesty never losses twice. Now that he has you again . . . frankly my dear, you will never leave here."

Nothing new really, Sarah sniffed. "And I thought this place was a fairytale."

"Far from it. Unless . . . ."

"Unless what?"

"Never mind dear, it's late. You'd better get back to sleep." She tucked Sarah back in, thinking about what she had almost said: _Unless you did fall in love with the king._

Sarah yawned, and then she smiled. "I guess you're right."

Gilda smiled too, rubbing the knuckles on the back of her hand. "Good night dear." She moved to the door. "I'm sure I'll be seeing you soon."

"Thank you for talking to me."

"You're welcome. Sleep well."

Sarah nodded, thinking of the lack of ceiling cracks. "I'll try."

Gilda turned back before leaving. "It's all you can ever do," she whispered.

XXXX

He returned early in the morning. He intended to stay in the corner, simply enjoying her presence as she slept; it had been so long since he had been able to see her in the flesh. But, finding her on the floor changed his plans; Sarah must have had more nightmares later in the night. Fitful sleeping tangled her in the bed sheets. Smiling, Jareth gathered her into his arms and unsurprisingly found he didn't want to put her down. She slept so peacefully, half smiling with her lips barely parted. Jareth gently stroked her cheek with one leather encased finger.

Finally he laid her on her bed. The Goblin King sat next to her, watching. She was so beautiful, young and perfect. And so vulnerable. He shook his head for clarity; Sarah stirred. He drew away. If she woke up with him lurking over her, she would only be more frightened. He had already frightened her enough to get her to come, and he would have to start undoing the damage. Unfortunately, scare tactics came far more naturally to him than endearing ones. Jareth leaned against the wall and made sure his scowl was firmly in place when Sarah opened her eyes. It was nearly midmorning.

She reacted slowly, rubbing her eyes and yawning. Once again, she did not immediately notice his presence, but perhaps she suspected. When she was fully awake, she pulled the blanket up to her chin before looking around.

"I see you are awake," he commented from his position on the wall. She sat up, keeping the blanket protectively covering her, pointless as she was still fully clothed in the jeans and peasant top from yesterday. "Did you sleep well?" he stepped forward.

"Hardly," she scoffed. "Too many interruptions and too many dreams."

"Interruptions?" he seemed slightly angry. "What interruptions?"

She sensed the danger in his hard elusive eyes. "Never mind."

Jareth's face showed that he let it go, but inside he seethed. Who else visited his Sarah if not him? Who else enjoyed her smiles and vulnerable tears? The unfairness raised painful ire in his throat. "Have some breakfast," Jareth gestured to a table set before the sunniest window.

"I'm not hungry," she said huffily.

"You are . . . ." he gloated, then walked over and popped a grape into his mouth, smirking all the while. Biting down, he savored the sweet juice in his throat.

"I'm not," Sarah retorted, but her eyes trailed to the food, proving him right.

He stopped a second red grape half way to his mouth to raise an eyebrow in mock surprise. Sarah did not like being mocked, so she glared at him, rather without effect. "But you'd love to have some anyway," he drawled.

"No." Jareth knew she was lying; worse, she knew that he knew.

"Very well sweet Sarah." He turned to go, lingering in her doorway. "However you will join me for lunch, at which time you will stop acting like a spoiled child and eat."

"What if I don't want to?" she countered, squaring her shoulders.

He smiled dangerously, "As per our agreement Sarah." Without another word, he strode from the room, the heavy door slamming behind him.

As soon as he departed, Sarah hurried over to the table, and found that the tray had disappeared. She threw up her hands and sat down in a huff. Obviously she was hungry! Sick with apprehension and worry, she hadn't eaten much over the last two days, and she was never the sort of person to skip breakfast. "Of course I was hungry," she mumbled staring at the space where the plate had been. A moment later the tray reappeared, precisely as the king left it. "He ate all the grapes!" she groaned, stamping her foot.

XXXX

Jareth walked confidently down the corridor. Refusing to eat in his presence was so terribly classic and childish; he figured her out and could predict her. In his mind he heard her grown: _He ate all the grapes!_ With wry amusement, he flicked a finger back in the direction of her room, causing another small bunch to appear beside her plate. Jareth smiled as he mentally heard her gasp, anticipating an interesting afternoon.

XXXX

After she had finished her breakfast, an enticing array of pastry and fruit, Sarah began to explore the room. First she unpacked her things, finding places for her trinkets on the mantel, her books in the book case, and Lancelot on her pillow. Afterwards, she wandered about, absentmindedly smoothing the velvet of her curtains and trying to map out the room in her mind. In actuality, her room was more like half or so of an immodest suite. The spacious bedroom extended into a small sitting room. A luxurious bathroom extended off as well, complete with a grand white tub. Her excitement swelled instantly, fading when she realized the impossibility of long lavish baths in the castle beyond the Goblin City. Forcing herself to look for silver linings, she admitted the balcony had a lovely view.

She found three additional doors, although all but one were locked. A great carved mahogany door angled at 90 degrees led north. When she knocked or banged on the surface, she couldn't even hear an echo. Another door lay on the same wall, also dark wood but far less majestic. The unlocked door led out of her sitting room in the northern direction as well, but it only led to a small hallway which terminated in another locked door. This castle was as twisted as the maze that surrounded it. She didn't want to explore anymore, something about large locked mahogany doors in this particular castle unnerved her.

Realizing that she left her clothes strewn over the bed, Sarah retrieved them and visited her closet. The walk in closet was nearly the size of her old room. She gasped at being suddenly surrounded by medieval gowns, the likes of which she had only imagined. Sarah held one against herself, loving how it looked in the mirror. The king hadn't lied when he said she would want for nothing, at least not in terms of fantasy fashion, but she wouldn't be telling him that. Though all things considered, she always appreciated jeans and simple blouses- distinctly absent from the collection. Nevertheless, she could play with pretty dresses to amuse herself briefly. Everything looked exactly her size. Not wanting to know how he arranged that, she found a lavender dress and put it on.

The mid-range hue contrasted well with both her dark hair and her pale complexion. Wide bell sleeves and silver accents reminded her of The Mists of Avalon. She experimentally gave the skirt a few twirls, delighted by the results.

Having nothing better to do, she sat down and combed her hair. Since she slept late, she guessed it was nearly lunch time, but Sarah had no intention of going to look for the Goblin King. If he wanted her, he would have to come and drag her out himself. Sarah shivered, well aware that he would.

She turned around in surprise as the doors flung open. Jareth walked into the room as if he owned it. It was her room! He had given it to her! Not that she expected privilege or privacy from the likes of him, but on principle…

Jareth raised his eyebrows slightly as he considered complimenting her choice in attire, but refrained. She would probably take it the wrong way anyhow, especially if he confessed the gown a personal favorite. "Come with me dear Sarah," he offered a hand with a tiny bow.

She glowered inside. He utterly lacked consideration. Just barge in, assume she was ready and escort her away. No consideration. But she didn't expect any coming from a monster. A cruel monster-master with whom she was stuck for eternity. Her insides ached at the thought. Sarah stood behind him, her head low.

Jareth observed her sudden emotional shift. He said nothing, and with drew his hand. She followed him in utter silence.

XXXX

Jareth watched Sarah over his own relatively untouched plate. She refused to eat, but not to spite him; she lost her appetite following him to the small dining room. "So . . . how do you find my castle?" he remarked to goad her into conversation.

She kept her eyes lowered. "It's cold."

"Not in the summer I assure you." Jareth smiled at the way her hair slid down over her cheeks, revealing the pale part on top of her head.

"And dark," she bit out, pushing a green vegetable around in circles with her fork. She used to scold Toby for table manners like these; those family dinners already seemed so long ago.

"I happen to like brooding shadows," he mused, delicately sipping red wine.

"I don't." Sometimes, Karen baked pies after dinner, if she and Toby sliced the apples or strawberries. She loved the smell pie baking and spending time with her little brother, rolling her eyes when he yammered on about school. They always had to stop the eager little boy from shoveling down too much pie and ice cream.

"Thus, I gave you a room on the east side of the castle." He watched her loose herself in the memory, a hollow slip of a girl in a pretty dress.

"I suppose." After dinner, when Karen didn't have one of her headaches, sometimes they would play a game together. Since Toby was older now, they could play more advanced games, like Candy Land and Monopoly Jr.; Scrabble still surpassed his skill and vocabulary. Suddenly, she wished they'd played more together. Oftentimes, Karen was too tired, or she left with Brent, or her father worked late…but at least she remembered those few evenings with pleasure.

"Sarah . . . ." he scolded, frowning fiercely.

Sometimes, loving a family is much simpler from far away. She forced herself to release the useless memory. "What?" she lifted her eyes from the plate.

It would have been a good sign, but they were sad. He adored the simple play of her emotions. "Never mind." Jareth stared moodily into his glass, inspecting his reflection and changed the subject. "Are you finding your way?"

She shrugged, taking a small bite of the greens, burying her venom. "I haven't gone anywhere. I can't."

"You may go anywhere you please Sarah-mine." He found her grimace at the soubriquet thoroughly endearing (1). She brought divine excitement into his world.

"Anywhere I want?"

"In the castle."

Scoffing, she lowered her fork. "Oh."

"If you have somewhere else in mind, just ask. You will find me quite reasonable," he grinned charismatically, but his dark charm evaded Sarah's sensibilities.

Her eyes narrowed over the rim of her goblet. "Sure you are."

There, she was growing edgy again. He preferred her temper to her tears. Temper he could meet equally; the proper technique for those lovely tears evaded him. "Pray tell me when I have not been?" he asked innocently, baiting her.

Sarah slammed her glass down on the table, rattling the rest of the platters and plates. "When!?! When _have_ you been reasonable?"

"A veritable matter of perspective my dear . . . ." Jareth drawled, watching

"Perspective?" She tasted apple pie in her memory and remembered the distinct sensation of crisp Monopoly Jr. money under her fingers. "You steal me away from my home and my family, and you think that's reasonable?"

"Stole you? My dear, we made an agreement." Coolly reminding her of the facts only fueled her fire.

"I don't care."

"I see," he smirked, casually displaying his full appreciation, "My lovely girl, yet still such a child at times."

Sarah wanted to hit him. She would have hit him, but that would have meant getting within arms length. Besides, he had longer arms. She pouted instead, already well aware that the whole affair proved her wrong. She took out some of her aggression on her plate, pushing it across the table. "I'm not."

"I believe I said at times; did I not?"

He seemed determine to wound her pride and break her heart. "You did," Sarah snarled, standing quickly and shoving her chair politely back into place. She backed away from the table, increasing the distance between them as quickly as possible.

The king mirrored her movements lazily, though he ignored his chair. "This is one."

"I hate you," she whispered.

He stalked towards her, skimming the table with his gloved fingertips. "Hmmm?"

"I HATE YOU!" she shrieked. "I hate YOU!"

Jareth's eyes widened slightly. The words stung true, but he understood. Nevertheless, such behavior like couldn't be tolerated. "Sarah . . . ." his voice gained a tangible hint of menace.

"You monster. I hate . . . ." suddenly, her voice choked off.

Jareth was so startled, he almost didn't catch her when she fainted dead away.

Footnotes:

1. Soubriquet- nickname, alias, epithet.

I'm defining this word because I had never heard it before- but I liked the way it sounded in his voice so I used it in the edit.


	5. Ministrations

Update:

Original Author's Note (OMG, I am far too cliché cute):

I own Xander! I own Somebody! dances Just a quick chapter, all that I could finish, sorry. I wrote a good portion of this while walking home.

Persephone 5

Ministrations

Jareth looked down Sarah's unconscious body. Again she nestled in his arms- again only because she had no idea that he held her. He brushed a lock of hair off her cheek bone with a grand sigh and carried her down the corridor towards her room.

Busy scrubbing the tile floor, Lyja saw him and glared at his charge. Carrying an unconscious girl around, it was all he'd ever have with her. She wiped the soap suds from her forearms and elbows, ignoring the droplets on her skirt, and sat back on her haunches to lure her king. Her short damp skirt clung to her thighs.

"Summon Alexander if you would Lyja," Jareth glared after her.

She straightened before bowing in mock submission, "Of course." Sarah moaned quietly against his shoulder. "Are you sure that will be necessary?"

The girl-creature disgusted him, but he could trust her ignorance and her human hands. "Just do it girl." He left before he even finished speaking, mentally summoning the man himself.

Entering her chamber, Jareth laid Sarah on the bed, and again found himself watching over her from her bedside. She started to shiver, so Jareth wrapped her in the blanket. Sweat covered her skin, but her teeth chattered. With his strong constitution and particular talents, he admitted he knew nothing of illness, but he knew the best way to warm someone. And why deny himself the pleasure? Jareth gave up, slid into bed beside her, and drew her into his arms. Curled up and wrapped snuggly, she fit quite well in his lap. He conjured another blanket around his shoulders to create a cocoon of warmth for her. Slowly, her teeth stop chattering and she slept, but something remained amiss. Jareth held her protectively close against him.

"Well now, that didn't take long."

Jareth looked up to meet the wry smile of Alexander. The silver haired man with clear blue eyes accustomed to smiling was one of the few who associated freely with the Goblin King; both factors made him a rarity of the breed. They had become friends, although neither would ever admit it. "She is thoroughly unconscious Xander," Jareth quipped.

"Even so," his eyes danced. He smiled at seeing the King with a girl, happy to see Jareth so calm, and lacking a bit of his dark sarcasm.

"Otherwise, she would greatly object to being within six inches of wool from me." He patted the sleeping girl's shoulder beneath the mound of down.

Alexander dismissed his sarcasm. "I assume you called me here because she is unconscious. What happened?"

Jareth's lip twisted; he pulled Sarah deeper into his embrace. "She fainted."

"I had guessed that. Previously?"

"We were having lunch." Smirking, Alexander raised a warning eyebrow, which Jareth ignored. "She was very quiet, and then she started screaming."

"You provoked her to it, did you?"

Jareth lowered his gaze, peering out from underneath the hazy blond hair that clouded his eyes. "You know me too well."

"Well then, what did you upset her to?" Alexander took a seat beside the pair on the bed, studying the visible slip of girl. He noted the sweat clinging to her bangs.

"She told me she hated me," Jareth said quietly.

"I see," he glanced up at the king, shaking his head. "And then she fainted?"

"In mid-sentence."

"Let me see her." Jareth opened his arms to reveal Sarah sleeping against his chest. Her chest rose shallowly, one arm tossed lazily over her shoulder. Alexander's eye's widened. "She'sbeautiful Jareth, and rather young."

"What of it?"

Alexander shook his head again, ignoring the younger man's elegant and ever-so-arrogant airs. "How old is she?"

He rolled his eyes before pressing a delicate kiss to Sarah's dingy tresses. "Seventeen, almost eighteen I believe."

Alexander whistled softly. "Just remember her tender years in any relationship you pursue."

"You doubt me?"

"Of course not. It's just that humans mature differently than we do."

"Fine. Now tell me what's wrong with her."

Although he didn't need to, Alexander felt her forehead. "She's feverish."

"Why?" Jareth snapped impatiently.

"I won't know until I make a closer examination. Give her here." Reluctantly, Jareth let the other man take Sarah. Alexander looked down and studied her face. Even ashen and ill, he noticed striking features. "She _is _beautiful Jareth."

"Already I find myself having second thoughts about allowing you to examine her," he commented sarcastically, remembering that Alexander was renowned for his ways with women as well as magic and medicine.

"The stories are true then. The Goblin King has lost his heart to an angel."

"I have not," Jareth snarled.

"Dear boy, your jealousy at finding my arms round her proves the point." With a smile, Alexander took Sarah into the other room, leaving Jareth glowering.

XXXX

Half an hour later, Alexander found himself thoroughly puzzled. He found no reason for the girl's raging fever, or her deep trance like sleep. She seemed in perfect health, aside from the obvious symptoms. _Time to bring her around_, he thought. He passed a sorcerer's version of smelling salts under her nose. "Good evening," he remarked jovially.

Sarah looked around, and met a pair of kind blue eyes. Slowly, the rest of the figure came into focus. He was most definitely like, and yet not like Jareth. Whether that fact was relieving or not, she couldn't decide.

"My name is Alexander," the man supplied while gently placing a kiss on her hand. "His Majesty asked me to check up on you, after you fainted."

"I fainted?" she asked, confused.

"Rather dramatically, yes. But you needn't worry about anything just now." She looked at him quizzically, so he continued: "You have a fever, and I'd like to get you into bed as soon as possible."

"Are you a doctor?"

"In a way." He smiled, "I'll be right back." He left the room, leaving her sitting on the couch, heartily confused.

XXXX

"Will she be all right?" Jareth stopped pacing and turned to Alexander. "Will she?!?" he hissed.

"Keep your voice down. I do not want you to get her riled up again," he replied, imaging giving instructions to a tiny stubborn little boy. "I'll talk to you in a minute." Alexander disappeared into the closet, muffling his voice.

Jareth scowled, returning to his pacing with heavy steps. "Be quick."

Alexander remerged with a white nightdress and thick blue robe. "Jareth, would I keep you waiting?" he said leaving again.

"Yes," Jareth answered himself. _Only Alexander._

XXXX

Finally, Alexander returned leading a sleepy looking Sarah back to her bed. She stopped and stared at Jareth wide-eyed, but Alexander averted her face and helped her into bed. "Close your eyes," he suggested gently, using a magical enhancement so that she obeyed. The Goblin King looked from the suddenly sleeping girl to Alexander. "Now I will speak to you." Jareth opened his mouth, but Alexander shushed him and hurried on, "In the hall. Quietly." Jareth watched Sarah a moment longer; she seemed peaceful enough. He followed the other man into the corridor.

"Well, what?" he demanded, finding his dangerous whisper continually growing loud.

"She has a fever, the cause of which I cannot determine," the older man shrugged. "It could have no cause."

"What needs to be done?" he moved to strike the wall with his fist, but Alexander stopped him, batting the hand away before it met stone.

"Did I not say to be quiet?"

Jareth nodded sourly.

"Stay with her, be sure that she eats, sleeps," he rattled off directions the way he would to a new mother.

Jareth leaned against the wall, as if trying to get closer to Sarah, to protect her. "And who will do that?"

"You will tend to her." Alexander chuckled at the image the Goblin King of a soothing maternal figure.

"What?!?" Jareth exclaimed, forgetting his volume.

"There is no one else to do it. Would you trust her care to a goblin?"

"No," Jareth sulked. "But you will watch her."

"I have other things to do, Majesty," his eyes twinkled as he jokingly used the title. Alexander never used formal titles except in cases of extreme ceremony, or when he wanted something.

"So do I. More 'things,'" Jareth growled.

"Think of it as an opportunity," Alexander winked, tapping the king's nose.

He recoiled, shoving the other man away. "What do you mean?"

Alexander backed into the wall and stepped back to the king's side unphased. "To earn her trust- the first step towards pursuing her anyway."

"True," Jareth considered, rubbing his temples. He could already feel the head ache brewing beneath them. Sarah would only make it worse.

"And from what I hear, you have a long way to go."

"You talked to her," Jareth growled, his cheeks turning a shade pinker than death.

"Well, a bit. What else could I do?"

"Xander!"

"Did I hear my name? Got to fly," Alexander disappeared.

Jareth gaped. No one else defied him like that and joked about it. Only Alexander. He summoned a goblin servant. The little creature bowed humbly before him. "Have my papers brought to this room," he indicated Sarah's door. "I believe I will be there for some time." With that, he returned to his lady's chamber.


	6. Hallucinations

Highlights from original note:

DISCLAIMER: OMG! I still own nothing!...Also, special thanks to everyone who has given me SUGAR!

Persephone 6

Hallucinations

Several hours passed, in which the Goblin King found he had gotten very little done. It was difficult to concentrate on a pile of paperwork with Sarah sleeping in the same room. Difficult and unnerving. She had not stirred for hours, but he knew that sooner or later Alexander's charm would lift, freeing the fever to claim her once again. Until then, he wasn't really needed, but he would follow Alexander's instructions and stay with her anyway. Jareth tried to work, always with one of his mismatched eyes trained on Sarah over his documents.

As shadows fell, she began moaning, making soft, plaintive calls in the night. He gave up his work and sat beside her, cursing Alexander for leaving him so out of his element. Her pale skin flushed, her hair soaked with sweat and limp and her eyes closed tightly, as if against insurmountable pain. He reached out to touch her, but she started thrashing wildly, and he didn't dare. In her flailings, she caught his hand. Intriguingly, she seemed to take comfort in the connection, settling quickly.

Her delicate eyelids fluttered open. "Are you there?" she asked in a raspy voice.

"I am," Jareth replied slowly.

She drew his hand to her, "Take care of me?"

He smiled, "Of course." Perhaps Alexander had been right, things were looking up. Jareth thrilled at the light behind her eyes.

"I feel terrible," she whined.

"I know; twill pass my dear." He used his free hand to push sticky hair away from her face.

"Promise?"

"Yes."

"It's so cold." She began to shiver again. Jareth conjured more blankets for her; to his surprise and delight, she accepted them, drawing closer to him.

"You're ill." Heartened, he wrapped an arm around her curled body. She snuggled closer. Jareth rubbed her back gently. He would have to commend Alexander for his idea. The game flowed smoothly, with quickly-learned rules. Slowly, her shivering gave way to a slight tremble. He could feel her slight movement, brushing against his chest. To have her close to him, he had never felt freer or more content.

"Sing me something . . . . a lullaby," she looked up at him, wonder alive in her gray eyes.

Completely taken aback, he began to sing softly without thinking of the words or melody. The song flowing out was a different version of something she had heard before, calmer, kinder and a bit more persuasive:

_There's such a sad love  
Deep in your eyes, it needs a new start  
Open and close within your eyes  
I'll place the sky within your eyes_

_Yours is such a young heart  
Beating so fast, in search of first dreams  
A love that will last within your heart  
I'll place that love within your heart_

_  
Mine may seem a dark heart  
But it's no less than true, you'll stay_

_Forever with me, within my heart  
I'll always keep you within my heart_

_And I'll paint you mornings of gold  
I'll spin you Valentine evenings  
Though we're strangers to love  
We will choose the path between the stars_

_I'll take we two, between the stars_

_Falling . . . ._

_Falling in love . . . ._

XXXX

Sarah's mind beat violently against the utter fog surrounding it. She could not place herself or how she felt. Her entire body ached; her flesh burned, yet she shivered. Her brain searched for memory that matched the horrible sensations. There. She was five years old, battling pneumonia, while her mother watched over her. Yes, _that_ was it. She couldn't make out the face through the haze, but it must be her mother. She knew only that she was being held, cuddled, and cared for, which was all she needed. "Sing me something . . . . a lullaby," she asked finally. She listened peacefully as a beautiful voice caressed her ears. Her mother had always been a wonderful singer. Sarah could not make out the words, but that didn't matter. She fell asleep again, feeling safe.

Jareth smiled down at Sarah as she slept again. In his arms. He leanned against the headboard on her bed, more content then he could remember being in years.

XXXX

Sarah awoke slowly, piecing foggy memories back together. The room was dark, her room, in the Goblin Castle. Jareth's castle. She uncurled from her sleeping position, and felt her cheek brush skin. She yelped and looked up sharply, straight into a pair of alien eyes.

"Welcome back to the land of the living." When the realization that he held her dawned on Sarah, she pulled away violently, tumbling out of his embrace and onto the bed in a heap. "How are you feeling?" he asked. Perhaps his voice was supposed to be kind, but Sarah heard menace.

"How should I be feeling?"

"Not too well, I expect," he slid off her bed and stood over her. "You have a fever."

"Why were we . . . .?" she did not finish the question.

He raised an eyebrow, arrogant amusement playing across his face, purposefully ignoring her leading question. "Are you hungry?"

"No."

"Pity," he conjured a tray on the bed beside her. "Since I am under strict orders to ensure you eat." She looked up at him furious, but very weak. "So eat." She merely looked into the bowl of soup. He put the spoon in her hand; it was cool and she was incredibly warm. His hand left hers, but she didn't move to eat the soup. _She is so much easier to deal with while sleeping_, he thought. "Sarah . . . ." No response other than her exhausted glare. "Do not make this difficult."

"I'm not being difficult. I'm not hungry," she sulked.

"You still need to eat," he half-growled sitting down beside her. She flinched away. Jareth pulled her close to him, she was too weak to fight against already superior strength. He took a spoonful of soup and wafted the smell of chicken and herbs towards her. Had she been speaking to him, she might have commented that it smelled delicious. "Open your mouth." She pressed her lips together adamantly. He rolled his eyes, reached around her and plugged her nose.

"Hey!" she exclaimed drawing breath, but not closing her mouth quickly enough to avoid a well-placed spoonful of soup.

Jareth grinned. "There. You see Sarah? I always win. Now eat." He fed her a few more spoonfuls of soup, which she accepted sullenly. "Good girl."

That was just to condescending for her pride. She reached out for the spoon, "Give it here."

He dangled the cutlery out of her reach. "Going to eat now, are you?"

Sarah nodded. Jareth gave her the bowl and spoon and stalked away. Sarah cupped the warm bowl in her hands. Now that he was gone, she could allow herself to enjoy the soup. Sarah soon forgot the spoon and drank the broth straight from the bowl. She could taste cloves and spices with the chicken and vegetables. The broth tasted almost like the Williams family recipe for chicken soup, the one her father had made for her when she was sick, and that she had made for Toby when he stayed home from school. Her father. Toby. Home. Sarah tried furiously to blink away the tears, but she was loosing the battle.

XXXX

Jareth paced furiously up and down the corridor. She was so damn contradicting! She crawled into his arms and fell asleep only to jerk away when she awoke?! And he had practically poured his heart to her in song he had not meant to sing. Too much! He would never understand her. It didn't matter. She would be with him for eternity, she had no means of escape. Deciding she had been left alone long enough, he strode back into her room, his cape whirling about him like a storm about to burst with dark energy…then he stopped short.

Sarah lay on her bed, her meal forgotten, sobbing. She looked at him when she heard the door slam, trying in vain to wipe the tears from her eyes. She wouldn't cry in front of the Goblin King who had put her in such a position. But it couldn't be helped. At least she didn't have to look at him; she turned her head and buried her face in the soft down of her pillow.

The moody energy surrounding Jareth dissipated. He did not want to see her so unhappy, he wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her. She was so vulnerable. Knowing that tactic would only drive her away, he quietly crossed the room and stood by her. "Go ahead, . . . cry," he murmured. His hand fell into her hair, caressing the still sweat-tangled strands between gloved fingers.

Sarah did not feel his terrible light touch. She took no notice of him, and sobbed harder, her body trembling. "Shhh Sarah. You have simply had a hard day, 'twill all look brighter tomorrow," he whispered. One hand drifted across her back, rubbing gentle circles. Sarah jerked violently; his hand flew away. She would not accept comfort from the very person who trapped her here. But when his hand returned to that simple circular motion a moment later, she needed comfort so badly she didn't care about the source and let him touch her.

He kept at the same motion over and over. Jareth memorized the contours of her back. The ridges of her spine and planes of muscle under her smooth skin that he ached to touch in a more significant way, but didn't dare. Alexander had been right, her age showed and she was frightened. He could erase those fears, but it might be the most challenging project he had ever undertaken. How patient could he be? He wasn't sure of anything. He knew he wanted her, but for what purpose? His queen surely, but the long and short of the dilemma, how much did he want to feel for her? Could he afford to let his feelings deepen, personally or politically? Were those feelings really love or lust? Or perhaps, he went back to his old answer, they really were merely the same thing. Uncertainty was a new feeling for the arrogant Goblin King.

Her sobs had diminished to tiny hiccups and raged breathing, muffled by her pillow. "Better?" he asked quietly.

"A little," she conceded.

"You just needed a good cry," he pulled her wild hair away from her face.

Leather grazed her cheek. "No," she would not admit weakness to her captor. And she realized his hand was still tracing circles on her back.

"Sarah . . . ." sensing her discomfort, he drew his hand away, balling it into a fist to save the warmth trapped there.

"What?" she hiccupped.

"Go to sleep," he commanded, reinforcing the words with magic.

"I'm not . . . " she yawned.

"Well," he supplied against her will. "Sleep now Sarah . . . ."

Instantly, her exhaustion crashed down and collapsed on her. Sarah found she could not resist his order. Sleep claimed her. Jareth pulled the blankets over her and used a crystal to light a roaring fire in the hearth. Still so beautiful, and so vulnerable no matter how strong she looked. With a long look at her, he disappeared.

Nervously, Gilda crept out of the shadows and into the room. She was glad the King had left by way of his magic rather than the corridor; otherwise, she would have been caught sneaking to the girl's chamber. Sarah was asleep, so Gilda just checked on her quickly. She felt her forehead: hot, and sweaty. So she had a fever. This was very unusual, the girl had not seemed ill previously. There was nothing she could do just then, it was better to make sure Shel wasn't falling over Lyja. Gilda resolved to check in on Sarah again tomorrow.

XXXX

"XANDER!" the Goblin King's angry snarl only brought wry amusement to the silver haired fae of that name who materialized in front of him.

"That was rather interesting, wasn't it?" Alexander chuckled.

"Interesting?!"

"Although I will grant your behavior improved somewhat towards the end." Alexander added a little mock bow.

"You dare to chide me about my behavior?" Jareth fumed.

"In a word, yes."

"And what about her behavior?"

"She's a frightened girl, ripped from everything she holds dear." Jareth gave him an ungratified look, which as was general the other man ignored. "She has an excuse for any so called bad behavior. You don't."

"What would _you _have me do, all knowing one?" Jareth sneered.

"How about being 'nice?' Horrible human concept I know, but some form of kindness resides in there somewhere," he poked the Goblin King's chest, studying the kings face while considering the mortal concept. The left side of his mouth raised in amusement.

Instead of punishing him, Jareth turned away. "You think wrong."

"Don't be afraid to let her see that there's more to you than . . . . let me see how to put this . . ." He caught Jareth's eye and decided finishing that sentence would not be wise. "Ahem, never mind."

"I don't play nice for anyone," Jareth countered.

"I'm not asking you to play anything," Alexander laughed at a private joke. "Just don't frighten the girl to death."

Jareth rolled his eyes. Shadows rolled over his face, carving lines like a statue.

"And maybe, play a little nice," Alexander winked, vanishing before Jareth could wrap his hands round the other man's neck. Fine, he could try. He would be the nicest Goblin King to rule in the underworld . . . .


	7. Sweet Nothings

Great thanks to Somewherethatsgreen, to whom Shel's dialogue is original. And GenkiKarma for continued support. Thanks again to all who have reviewed. If you could tell me some specific things you like/didn't like that would be even more helpful. I hope you enjoy this chapter, I've been planning it forever and thought it would be like number 4. Anyhow, happy reading and tell me what you think. And please bear with me the end is better than the beginning.

Persephone 7

Sweet Nothings

Sarah awoke to the subtle scent of roses. Sunlight streamed through her window onto her bed. In the patch of sunlight on her bed, she saw a scattering of white, pink and red petals. They cascaded down the edge of her comforter and formed a trail heading to her bathroom. Yawning, she got out of bed and followed it. Her bathroom was steamy and comforting against the last chills of her fever. She found the bath tub completely prepared for her, filled nearly to the brim with steaming rosewater and bubbles. The foam befitted a commercial, complete with rose petals sprinkled on top. The frothy tub looked and smelled delightful, and she, well she could use a bath. Sarah looked around; _He_ must have done it. Would he expect something in return? Well, he wouldn't get any favors from her. The uncharacteristic gesture would seem romantic coming from anyone else, especially someone timid and shy like Brent. She didn't really trust Jareth not to watch her, or barge in, but she saw no sign of him. And she wouldn't give up being clean based only on petty suspicions. She could pretend he had nothing to do with the luxurious set-up. Sarah stripped as quickly as she could and slid into the bath. She relaxed, letting hot water soak away her tension.

XXXX

Jareth lounged on his throne, watching Alexander pace in front of him. It was highly amusing to see his friend being the irritable one, instead of himself. "Are you sure that you're doing this for her?"

"You said to be nice," Jareth smirked.

"You aren't spying on her?" Alexander demanded with a pointed finger. His gloves stretched at the knuckle.

"No."

"She's ill; what if she drowns? Then what?"

"There is a charm on her door. I will know instantly if her head slips too close to the water."

"But you're really not looking in on her?"

"Xander," he feigned hurt feelings with a hand over his heart. "Don't you trust me?"

With his characteristic half-smile, the older man looked him up and down. "I know you," he quipped.

"Xander . . ."

"What?"

"Don't worry."

"Alright," Alexander stopped pacing.

Jareth stood. "I'm going to check on her."

"But you said . . . ." he turned to find that Jareth had already disappeared.

XXXX

Sarah was truly relaxing, sunk down to her neck in the frothy water, when she heard a knock at her bathroom door.

"Are you alright?" a well-recognized and duly unwanted voice queried from outside.

She sunk lower in the water, feeling her chin slip below the water, certainly he was about to barge in on her. "I'm fine," she replied loudly and a bit more forcefully than necessary.

"Do you need anything?"

"I said I'm fine thank you!" she snapped impulsively.

"Good." He surely smirked outside her door.

Sarah bit her lip, expecting her tongue to burn off at the very thought of asking for something. "Actually . . . ." she murmured.

"Hmm?"

"I am a bit hungry," she hoped this did not translate into wanting to have breakfast with him.

"You will find breakfast waiting for you when you leave the bath. Should you be willing to eat it," his voice was mischievous and he most certainly smirked. That tone destroyed her remaining doubts. "Anything else?"

"No thank you," she said firmly. She wasn't going to push it.

"Feel better Sarah." She could hear him prowling her room a moment, the shuffling of books and then silence. Not seeing him made her feel infinitely better. His concern was unusual, but she wasn't about to let it get to her. He was more the king of manipulations than goblins. She could take what he gave her, it didn't mean anything.

XXXX

When she was thoroughly wrinkled to full blown humiliated grape status, Sarah slipped from the tub and wrapped herself in a fluffy towel. She was exasperated to find that she hadn't brought clean clothing into the bathroom, and she definitely was not going to put yesterdays fever-filthy nightgown back on. She didn't really want to go into the main part of her room wearing just a towel, what if he hadn't left? She peered around the door, relieved that he was not there, and happy to find another dress on hanging on the other side of her door. This one was simple and white. There was a green robe hanging with it. He must have left them there, but Sarah refused to think about that either.

She left the bathroom dressed in the fresh clothing with her hair wrapped up in a towel. Her stomach rumbled, so she looked around for her promised meal, that she was definitely going to eat. A small table was set just beside the doors to her balcony, sunlight streaming in before it. A bouquet of fresh yellow roses adorned the table and caught the light. Sarah sat down and was delighted to find eggs, oatmeal-like porridge and scones. She ate her way through the food ravenously, hardly stopping to taste it. Of course, when her stomach protested afterwards, she thought scarfing might not have been the wisest idea, but what was done was done.

Still not fully recovered and at a loss for what else to do, Sarah decided to take a nap. She lay stretched out on her bed, but before she fell asleep she noticed a stack of books on her bedside table. She picked one up and turned it over in her small hands, feeling the leather cover beneath her fingers. Then she noticed the author. A Tolkein book? In the Underground? It was not one she had read, and she would have sworn she had read every Tolkein book there was to be read. Sarah started to read, quickly loosing track of the hours.

XXXX

Lyja skulked in the shadows of the throne room like she nearly always did; a silent sullen figure surrounded by rambunctious goblins. She watched the Goblin King, her King, sitting on his throne flipping through some book he had taken from Sarah's room. To add to her misery, Shel came up beside her.

"Good afternoon Lyja." She inclined her head to indicate she heard him, but didn't respond. Shel followed her gaze and looked over at the throne. "That girl . . . . his Majesty must think she's pretty special."

That insinuating comment begged her response. "He must. But she resists him, and she wears her resentment on her sleeve."

"I don't get it," he scratched the stubbly hairs on his chin. "What kind of man wastes his time on a woman who doesn't love him?"

Lyja glared down at Shel for lack of a better object, before returning her gaze to her adored king. "She's a slip of a girl, not even a woman."

"But it's her he wants, and he doesn't change his mind about anything."

Neither did she. "You're right. He wants her." _I'll just have to make him want me more,_ she thought. Desire felt thick on her tongue.

"Gilda likes her, feels sorry for her I guess."

"Well I don't."

Shel pulled himself up to his full height. "Me neither!"

Lyja looked down at him. His head nearly reached her thigh. "You disagree with Gilda?"

Shel paused to consider, wondering where the sudden idea had come from. "I guess so."

"Really? Surprised me."

Shel surprised himself. "We're two different people, I can think for myself."

"Of course," her tone was condescending, but he didn't pick up on it. Inside, she giggled.

"Gilda gets jealous sometimes . . . " he trailed off, regretting the words.

"Oh?" Lyja teased, tickling his chin and ignoring the scratchy hairs. "Of what?"

He laughed nervously. "I shouldn't have brought it up. It's just that... Gilly gets jealous when I talk to... you know... other women. And I tell her there's nothing to be jealous about. She just worries about silly things like that."

"How . . . quaint."

Shel had opened his mouth to reply, but Jareth had moved across the room and Lyja had moved quickly to follow him. Shel stood alone; a few seconds later, he realized his mouth was still agape and promptly closed it.

XXXX

Sarah lazed on her bed, feeling a bit better. She hadn't seen Jareth since morning; a goblin had brought her lunch and quickly left. The book she was reading was quite good. But a knock at her door startled her out of her relatively content reverie. She looked up to see Jareth shimmer into view, leaning against her door. He smirked as the door vibrated against his back. Sarah quickly realized why.

"OF ALL THE NERVE!" Sarah vaguely recognized the voice belonging to Alexander as he punctuated each word by hitting the door. "Did you completely miss the point in knocking Jareth!?!"

Sarah could not help but smile. Jareth winked at her, stepping aside so that Alexander tumbled ungracefully into the room. "Sarah, have you met Alexander?" he asked wryly.

She had just barely begun to nod when Alexander stepped forward, took her hand, and kissed her knuckles. "My pleasure Lady Sarah. I did make your acquaintance yester eve, but you were quite ill. I will not be offended in the least if you do not remember my humble self."

"That would be quite a feat," Jareth teased.

"Never mind him, he's a little stuck . . . ." Jareth cleared his throat. "Anyhow, as you seem to be feeling better, your esteemed doctor, that would be me, orders you to take a little jaunt into the sunshine." He bowed, to both of them in turn before nodding to Jareth. "I'll leave you to it."

"What!" Sarah shrieked, but yet again Alexander had already gone.

"Doctor's orders Sarah," Jareth stepped towards her.

"I'm not going anywhere alone with you."

"Defiance Sarah," he extended his hand. She didn't move. "And orders from your doctor." She still didn't budge. He leaned over her, so close she could feel his breath on her face. "Honestly Sarah, we can do this the hard way, it makes little difference to me." She pulled away, but he swept her into his arms with one hand around her shoulders and the other under her knees.

"Jareth!" she beat her fists against his chest, but he merely smiled down at her.

"We are going outside," he said nonchalantly, magiking the door open and gliding out. Finally she gave up and glared up at him, panting. "That's better."

"Will you put me down please?" she whispered, not looking at him.

"Are you not going to run?"

"No."

His mouth was touching her ear. He was too close. "You are. So I will not be putting you down."

"How did you know that?"

"I have my ways."

She pouted and hung tensely against him. "This is completely defeating the purpose of a hot bath!"

"So you enjoyed my gift."

"Gift?" she stiffened more.

"The little events I arranged for you this morning," he grinned, showing his teeth. "You liked them." She nodded rigidly. "Relax, Sarah. I'm not going to bite."

"I'm not so sure of that."

"Neither am I," he grinned.

"Put me down, now!"

He obliged her, and gently set her on her feet. "Don't stray." She hastened away.

Sarah looked around for the first time since he had taken her out of the castle. Jareth had carried her into an elaborate rose garden. Only a few roses were beginning to open, tiny red buds on the end of green leaves. But the tender smell of roses already hung in the air. A small fountain bubbled merrily in the center, and a bench was placed nearby, providing the perfect spot to sit and read.

Jareth watched Sarah from the garden gate. She looked better already. Her color was returning and she smiled ever so slightly. She seemed to be searching for a rose in full bloom, but he knew it was too early in the spring. Jareth picked a single bud from the nearest bush and willed it to bloom in his hand. The perfect gift with which to end the day. He concealed the blossom behind his back.

"Is it too early for them to bloom?" she asked returning towards him.

"They need a few weeks yet."

"Can I come back then?"

"We can return whenever you wish." It wasn't precisely the answer she wanted, he knew. It would have to do. She turned back into the garden. "Sarah . . . ." he called after her.

At the sound of her name Sarah turned to find a rose in his outstretched hand. A rose in full bloom. She took it in her hand. "How did you?"

"I have my ways," he repeated. "Must you always be so skeptical dear girl?"

She refrained from answering and instead tested the flower's fragrance. She smiled; not at him, but at the flower. It was a start. "Thank you," she whispered.

"My pleasure Sarah."


	8. Relapse

Hmmm, maybe I should just wait a week between chapters every time. Look at all the lovely reviews! Joking, don't worry. But thanks everyone, so much. I've just been insanely busy catching up with homework after being out sick. Here you go, I hope that further chapters will be quicker, and better than this one.

I still own nothing, except Xander, Lyja and the plot. Once again thanks to GenkiKarma and Somewherethatsgreen, although nothing here is a direct quote. 

Persephone

Chapter 8

Relapse

            Sunset settled over the garden. Normally Jareth would have found himself annoyed wasting an entire afternoon sitting amongst well groomed flowers, but with Sarah here it didn't seem so tedious. Not that she had spoken to him in hours. In fact, Sarah had sat by the fountain, lost in her thoughts. He had kept his distance. In theory Alexander's suggestion to be kind and gentle was easy enough, especially from a distance. Everything was easy from a distance. Closer, there was something about her that irked him to the core and thrilled him at the same time. He wanted her; passion, love whatever it was called. But no feeling could overwhelm the Goblin King,  for he would never  allow it. The mask of dark brooding arrogance was what frightened her, but for his life he did not know that he wore it, or how to take it off.

            "Sarah . . ." she did not respond to his call. "Sarah, it's late." Still no response. Nothing to indicate she had heard. "Sarah . . ." he tried once more before walking to her side. Sarah's eyes were closed in a slightly abnormal way. She didn't stir when he shook her shoulder gently. Sarah did not stir.

He began to worry. Immediately, he quashed the emotion. Goblin Kings did not worry over mere mortals. Deep inside, the feeling flickered before it died. Jareth laid his hand on her forehead; he could feel heat through his glove. Sarah's fever was returning. 

            Jareth cursed. Alexander was busy far from his domain. He would have to deal with this himself. This was not the what Goblin King's were supposed to do. He stood over her, at an absolute loss for action except desire to protect the thing he found most frail. Protection was an tolerable _feeling_ so he let it take over. Jareth sent a gentle jolt of magic through her body, and her eyelids fluttered open.

            "What happened?" she asked groggily.

            "You tell me."

            "I don't know," she swayed as she stood.

            "Allow me." He scooped her into his arms.

            "Put me down!" she cried weakly.

            Jareth rolled his eyes. "This again? Sarah you can not stand let alone walk." She opened her mouth to protest but he continued cutting her off. "And I do not intend for you to spend the evening in the garden." Sarah pouted, but knew he was right and couldn't argue. That fact made her even more angry.

            As soon as they reached her room, Sarah vaulted onto her bed. She rubbed her arms as chills washed over her. "Would you light my fire?"

            Jareth raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Very well." With the flick of a finger it was done, and he drew a couch before the great marble fireplace. She smiled in appreciation despite herself. "Come here."

            "Where?"

            "Here. To me," he commanded. Meekly Sarah obeyed on shaky legs. "Won't you sit down Sarah?" Jareth took her hand and brought her down to sit beside him, without protest he noted. It was due to her condition he knew, but it was nice to pretend she would happily sit by his side. 

Sarah destroyed his musings by withdrawing to the other end of the couch, pulling a blanket tighter around her as she went. "It's so cold," she whined despite the firelight glowing against her pale skin.

Jareth slid over to her. Sarah couldn't move without leaving the couch, which had two draw backs. She needed the fire, and she wasn't about to let the high and mighty Goblin King think she was afraid of him. Not even if she was. But he was too close. He reached out and snatched the blanket away with one hand, pulling her to him. "Jareth!" she shrieked. "What are you  . . . .?"

"Relax Sarah," his grip was like fluid iron, caging her. How was she supposed to relax? "The body heat of another is the best way to warm you."

She ceased her struggles only after she had punched him as hard as she could. Of course, he merely smiled at her abuse. "You seem to be enjoying yourself," Sarah commented sourly through chattering teeth.

"I admit I am less uncomfortable than you," he said rearranging her blankets much like he had when he held her unconscious, again wondering why she was so much easier to deal with in that state. Sarah glared into the flames, leaning as far away as his arms allowed. She still trembled with cold, but she wasn't going to depend on the Goblin King no matter how ill she felt. He had other plans. Gently Jareth squeezed her back against his body to the warmth he provided. Little by little Sarah gave in. It did warm her, as he had said. She stopped shivering. Sarah sighed and nestled into his chest, unaware of the small smile that softened his thin features. "Any better?"

"I'm only this close because I'm cold!" she snapped.

"I know Sarah, I know," He whispered while gently rocking her in his arms.

"Don't get any bright ideas."

"Would I?" She rolled her eyes at him. Then she yawned. "Sleep Sarah," he added hypnotic undertones to a voice that did not need them. She nodded, eyes already heavy and slumbered in his arms.

When it became clear that she was warm and calm, he slipped away and went to the desk he had set up in her room. Rifling through the papers, he saw that they were all completed. He could slip out for a few minutes and get something to do. She'd be alright for a few minutes. As enjoyable as Sarah-sitting could be, he couldn't let work slip away. Jareth vanished without his usual surplus of glitter.

~ ~ ~ ~

Slowly, Sarah left a warm sleep as a quiet rap came on her door. "Who is it?" she asked rubbing pseudo-sleep from her eyes. 

"It's Gilda dear. I just came by to check on you for a moment, but I can go."

"No, please come in." Of course it wasn't Jareth. He wouldn't knock. _Where was Jareth?_ Gone. Suited her just fine.

"How are you feeling?" Gilda came to sit beside her on the couch.

"I'm not sure how I'm supposed to feel. Sick I suppose."

"I'm sorry. Are you comfortable?"

"Physically anyway," she sighed.

It confirmed Gilda's suspicion that the king himself was caring for the girl. "Is he treating you well?"

"Like a china doll. I can't stand it."

Gilda smiled. She was an observant woman, and never before had she seen Jareth try to be tender, or gentle. He wasn't trying very hard, or succeeding for that matter, but the fact that he made an attempt spoke volumes. Apparently Sarah wasn't reading. "Dear, he's . . . ."

"Can we not talk about it?" the girl asked quietly.

"Oh," Gilda shifted in her seat. "Of course, anything you want."

"I don't mean to be rude, I've just . . . ." she trailed off.

"I understand. It's alright." Gilda changed the subject. For some time they talked of trivial things, not having much in common but nevertheless a lot to say. Perhaps half an hour later Gilda heard a bell deep in the castle and made to leave.

"Will you come back tomorrow? It's nice to have someone to talk with." Gilda nodded as she headed out the door. "Thanks," Sarah called after her.

"I thought I told you to sleep."

She turned to find the Goblin King had materialized a mere meter away from her on the couch. "I did. Now I'm alright."

"You can stay up for awhile anyway."

"Thanks ever so," she responded sarcastically. He was _so _condescending. She was not a child who had a bedtime. 

He poured a glass of water and held it out to her. "Thirsty?"

The water was already poured, refusing would waste it all for the sake of being defiant. And her throat burned. Sarah took the cup into trembling hands, but her shaking caused some of the water to slosh onto the warm leather couch. With a veiled look of concern, Jareth took it from her and held it against her lips. "Drink," he ordered.

Not if he put it that way. Sarah kept her mouth closed.

"Honestly Sarah," Jareth pushed a finger against the corner of her lips and tipped the cup as they parted slightly. She coughed and sputtered. He raised the glass and an eyebrow. "Do not insist on being so difficult," he admonished, bringing the cup to her mouth again. This time, she took small sips of water. Sarah waved the cup away. He refilled it and placed it on the nightstand alongside her bed. "Tell me when you need it, hmm?" She flatly ignored him. Jareth smiled and laid the unfinished book he had given her open across her lap. Wordlessly, she found her place, meanwhile trying to gage his expression. Calm, amused, a little antagonistic. Nothing new. He retreated to the desk, leaving Sarah to loose herself in the mysterious Tolkien work, largely unaware of the scratching quill that signaled Jareth's presence.

Some hours later, Sarah slammed the novel shut. "Why does it have to end like that?" she commented to herself.

"There's another volume," she looked up in slight confusion. "I'll get if you like, but then we'd best get you ready for bed."

"No way in hell!"

"I thought you would like to read . . ." he played innocent to bait her. Perhaps it would improve her mood.

"Not that! You aren't helping me get ready for bed."

"Ah, I see. I'm afraid there's no one else," he grinned.

"I'd rather have a goblin . . ."

"No you wouldn't, goblin's lack a certain finesse." Jareth reached out and stroked her cheek. She couldn't slide far enough away to avoid his touch. "I'll only be a moment." He had meant the time literally. Sarah had intended to change while he was gone, but she could hardly walk. When he reappeared, she was struggling with the buttons in the back of her dress. Silently, he slipped to her side, and undid them all with nimble fingers. 

Sarah gasped as he moved to pull the dress from her shoulders, a nightgown tucked over his arm. "Don't you dare," she warned. 

"You can't do it yourself."

"Give me that." She took the night gown and pulled it on over the other dress. Jareth watched her as she made sure that he saw nothing. It was disappointing, but he found her methods highly amusing. Only then did she allow him to pull the dress away from warm skin, glistening with a trace of sweat. She flinched at the sensation of his gloves on bare flesh, also disappointing but understandable. 

"There."

Sarah wriggled out of the dress. "I'm not going to bed yet anyway."

"Sarah . . ."

"What?"

"You are. Let's not argue about it." He pulled the covers aside for her. "You are still ill, and require rest. At least the very least, that is what Xander would say."

"But . . ."

"Now Sarah."

She was tired of being treated like a child. Still truth to be told, she had to admit she  was acting like one. It was just so in dignifying to be put to bed by the Goblin King. Old Mother Hubbard, that she would accept willingly. This she had to. Sighing, Sarah laid back against her pillows, but she continued watching Jareth. 

"If you need anything, you will tell me and I will see that you have it. That's an order." Sarah rolled onto her side, terminating the conversation. "Sleep well Sarah," Jareth said softly, pulling a few strands mahogany hair away from her face. She inhaled audibly when he touched her, progress from flinching anyway, he thought. He crossed to the desk and went back to work, so aware of her presence he knew before she turned over what she would do.

"Are you going to stay here all night?"

"I am."

"And what if I don't want you here?" her voice had lost it's defiant edge, from across the room she sounded very small.

"As per Xander's instructions someone needs to be with you incase the fever returns and you loose consciousness."

"Oh." She hadn't wanted to think about that. "You're right."

"I always am."

 "I don't want to be alone," her voice quavered slightly.

"Then I will stay."

"If that's my only option."

"It is."

"You won't go tonight?"

"Never. Sleep now Sarah." She closed her eyes, never so happy to obey.__


	9. Of Comings and Goings

Okay, so I changed my mind. One installment, nearly twice as long.

I still note, Jareth has a reason for his moods in the beginning of this chapter. There are some hints in the second. And by the way, someone is nearly right.

Persephone 9

Of Comings And Goings 

Sarah awoke slowly, small details of her room catching groggy senses. The smell of gingerbread. The sound of clattering plates. Midday sun streaming in through her window. The goblin woman Gilda, standing on a chair over the table to exchange filled plates for equally filled ones. Sarah squinted at them through groggy eyes.

"Good morning dear," Gilda added a vase of flowers to the table. "You're looking better."

"What are you doing?" Sarah asked. "That's kind of wasteful."

"His Majesty ordered a fresh plate brought up for you when the first one got cold. Be on your best behavior, he's in a foul mood this morning."

"You mean he gets worse than he usually is?" she groaned.

"The king has been right happy since you arrived. This isn't bad at all."

"Wonderful."

"But I shouldn't speak of it, he'll return any minute. Enjoy your breakfast dearie."

"Everything looks great, thanks."

"It should. He ordered a whole new loaf of bread made for you too."

Why he fussed over her, she didn't know. No one else had ever cared. Nonetheless, gingerbread was a personal favorite. She smelled it, then took to nibbling the crust away. Purely delightful, the bread was so fresh from the oven that water condensed on her plate. It wasn't long before Gilda had to cut her another slice. "It's delicious," she managed between mouthfuls.

Gilda placed the second slice on her plate. "I can't stay to talk now, but I'll come by later."

"Okay," Sarah started in on her seconds.

"Mind you eat something else besides that," Gilda scurried from the room.

"But . . " she halted her protest, finding herself looking at the Goblin King instead of Gilda. She could tell immediately from the set of his shoulders that Gilda had been correct. His mood was black.

"So I see you're awake. And eating," Jareth commented sarcastically before helping himself to the gingerbread. 

When he sat down, the table seemed smaller. The dark energy radiating from him was so thick, Sarah could feel her throat constrict. "Yes," she squeaked.

"Good, good." He shredded the gingerbread onto a plate, occasionally pausing to mash the crumbs between his leather incased fingers. "Feeling better?"

"A little."

"Do you think you can dress yourself this morning?" She nodded quickly. "Here is your book." He laid the Tolkien volume beside her plate, issuing orders like a drill sergeant. "You still need to rest."

"I know," Sarah replied through a yawn. She still hadn't fully woken.

"I think you will be alright by yourself for the most part, and I have business to attend. Nevertheless, I will come by to check on you."

"I don't need a babysitter."

He pointedly continued: "You will take lunch with me this afternoon. Should you be up to it."

"I don't think I'll be . . . " 

"It is my decision Sarah," he cut her off sharply. "Weightless predictions have no sway."

"It's my life! And my aching body!"

"Really?" His smile filled her with dread. All perfectly white sharp teeth. And dark fervor. "I am master here, don't forget."

"But you don't . . ."

"I do. Leave it at that," he bit back.

"Please . . ." she couldn't deal with him like this, not now. Later she'd make him eat those vicious words. But for the moment, she was too weak to fight. Though that didn't mean she'd let him win outright.

"I have a rather trying day ahead of me. You will be joining me for lunch to provide some companionship." She paled, he continued. "End of discussion. I own you. Body, soul, whatever else I chose. And I make the rules!" He leaned across the table towards her, blocking the sunlight falling through the window to illuminate her features. "Those were the terms of our agreement."

"Which you know full well I would never have made if not for Toby . . . ." she replied, twinges of fury sneaking past her exhaustion.

"It is the past. Such things are no longer of consequence."

"They are! My brother . . ."

"Sarah stop!" He loomed higher over her, slamming a hand down on the table, rattling the dishes and even sending a few to the floor, exploding into porcelain fragments.

"Why are you so angry with me?" 

Jareth stood silent for a moment. He could see how tired she was, and frail. He didn't understand why, and desperately hoped Alexander would return soon. Partially because he needed help understanding her mysterious illness, but more because he needed someone who understood _her_. Jareth backed up a step. "I'm not angry with you Sarah. It isn't that at all. Though I do wish you would be more cooperative." It was true, in part. 

"Okay," she mumbled looking at her plate.

He turned her chin towards him, firmly so she could not turn away. "I will come to collect you at two o'clock," he repeated. "Call on me if you need anything before then, I'll see someone brings it to you." Releasing her, he vanished.

Not really knowing what to do, Sarah left her breakfast on the table, no longer hungry. She took up the book, and lost herself in Tolkien's world. 

~ ~ ~ ~

"It's so beautiful," Sarah laid the book down to wipe at misty eyes.

"What is dear?" Gilda inquired from her side.

"The hero. He loves the princess, but he know they can't be together, and he won't cause her any pain. So at the ball he asks for one dance and kisses her hand. In the morning he leaves to fight in the war so her brother won't have to go off and die." Sarah's eyes glazed over.

"He lives doesn't he?"

"Yes, but that's not the point."

"Then I'm afraid I don't quite understand." 

"It's true love!" Sarah exclaimed. Gilda regarded her blankly. "Don't goblins fall in love? And get married?"

"Shel and I are about as close we come to being in love down here." Gilda took a seat beside Sarah on her bed. 

"Who's Shel?"

What could she call him? Not her husband, not her lover, but more than a friend. Much more than a close friend even. Shel was the one she loved, but their relationship was undefined. So Gilda settled for the painfully literal. "Shel is a goblin. He's not particularly handsome for a goblin, or particularly intelligent. He's just Shel, but he's special to me . . . ."

Sarah nodded. "I understand."

"To answer your second question, goblins can't get married."

"That's awful!"

Gilda patted her shoulder. "It is the way of the labyrinth. Goblins do not marry, the right is reserved for fae, like Jareth." Sarah shuddered slightly, so Gilda pressed on. "We used to be able to hold a ceremony vowing commitment to each other."

"Used to? Why not anymore?" Sarah tilted her head to look down at Gilda properly.

"Because it must be approved by the king." 

"Oh," Sarah's eyes found the floor. Gilda desperately hoped her simple explanation would suffice. She didn't want to tell Sarah that Jareth only stopped granting requests after she had left. It would be an unkindness to tell her something like that. "Did you ask?"

"Twice, but it'll never happen." 

"I'm sorry." Too late, the girl seemed to have figured it out on her own. Sarah flopped back against silk cover pillows.

"Don't be sorry dearie. We'll try again someday, if Shel still wants to," she added unhappily. "Anyways, committal ceremony or none, there isn't much difference."

"You should be able to be with the one that you love."

"I am, it's just the luxury of telling everyone else I don't have."

"And I'll never have either," Sarah pouted slightly.

"Come on dear, you don't know that. You just need to give him a chance." The girl blew a stray strand of hair away from her eyes. "He goes out of his way to spend time with you and . . ."

"Time. What time is it?" Sarah interrupted.

"Perhaps a few minutes before two." Gilda shrugged, "What of it?"

"Quick hide!" Sarah gently pushed Gilda off the bed. 

"But what is it dear?" Gilda slide ungracefully to her feet.

"He's coming to get me, and I don't think he'll like it if I have a visitor," she answered frantically.

Privately Gilda agreed, but Sarah could not know that. Not if there was any hope of her falling for him. A happy king would mean so much for the kingdom, and for herself. "If you say so." 

"Wait," Sarah gave a few experimental coughs. "Do I sound sick?" 

"A little bit. But we already know you're ill."

"I just hope I'm sick enough that he'll leave me alone," she tested a few more coughs. They hurt her throat, so she decided that they must be realistic enough. 

"Are you sure you should do that?" The chime of the wall clock drowned Gilda out. The precisely two chimes.

"Please hurry Gilda! You can't be caught."

             "Anything you say dearie, but where?"

"Um, bathroom. Right now." Hastily, Gilda obeyed. Sarah looked down at her book not a second too soon. Jareth appeared sitting in the self same spot her goblin friend had occupied not a moment before. Sarah jumped slightly, her hands trembling as she fumbled to turn a page.

"Easy little girl. Did I frighten you?" he asked, words laced with tangible darkness. 

She took two shallow breaths, remembering how frightening he could be. "Nnnn-No," she stammered. His eyebrows raised, his expression rarely clear. _Oh really little one?_ "Not at all."

"You wouldn't lie to me would you Sarah?" His fingers brushed a loose lock of her hair away from her face. She was shaking. It couldn't be good for her, he knew. Only that kept him from utter elation at the thought. But then he was forced into thinking about if that was really what he wanted from her. No, no, her terror was not what he desired, thrilling as it was.

She nodded negatively.

He chuckled. "Let's try a new question then: Are you ready?"

"I have a cough," she stared at the pages of her book with an intensity that should have reduced them to ash.

"You have a cough," he repeated dryly. "You still need to eat, so it may as well be with me."

"No, I can't! I . . . ." she had no excuse.

"Let's hear it."

"I can't just start coughing on command," she retorted.

"You had better. Then again, it won't change anything."

So Sarah coughed, nothing much at first, but a moment later she could barely breathe. She sat still, gasping for breath. Jareth handed her the glass of water, insisting upon holding himself it as she sipped. She drank as eagerly as she could, focused only on the water. Dimly, her mind realized that he had slipped an arm around her shoulders.

Gilda pressed her ear to the bathroom door. Where had that come from? The girl hadn't sounded nearly so bad a moment before. Gilda mentally kicked herself for almost accusing Sarah of faking.

"I'll have lunch served here; pardon while I change the arrangements," he replied when she pushed him away, quickly vanishing.

 "Gilda?" Sarah whispered once he had gone.

"I'm here," she reentered the room.

"You'd better go while you still can."

"And I've probably got to help move your lunch now anyway." She winked, "Until later dear."

Sarah smiled.

Jareth returned mid-process of snapping his fingers, a bit further away from her than before. Sarah looked calmer, she was smiling and her breathing was under control. Her cough surprised him greatly. He was so sure she had been lying, everything about her manner, the fire in her eyes, the set of her full lips, how she pointedly avoided his eyes; all evidence led down the path of deceit. Then the cough that wracked her small body thoroughly changed his mind. "Lunch will be served shortly," he said sharply, alerting her to his presence.

"Okay," she stared into the water glass.

Jareth walked to her side slowly, with slightly more care not to scare her. "Come to the table."

Sarah stood with caution. She walked towards the table, taking great pains not to falter. She knew breathed down her neck waiting to catch her should she stumble. She didn't want to be caught, and so miraculously made it to the chair he held out under her own power. 

They didn't speak through the meal, which was served by a goblin, though thankfully not Gilda. Sarah focused on squeezing food through her raw throat, though she was largely unsuccessful. He probably would force her to eat if she stopped, so she literally swallowed pride and pain. She watched her plate. Jareth watched her. Finally, Jareth bid her good afternoon, at let her be alone. Relief flooded through Sarah. She immediately felt exhaustion seep through to her bones, and sagged onto her bed and slumbered once again.

~ ~ ~ ~

Sarah sat up in bed, hacking. Her throat engulfed in flames, or so it felt. Three days after she first thought of lying to Jareth about a cough, one prevented her from sleeping more than a few hours at a time. She reached for the glass of water beside her bed, savoring a moment of relief. Sarah managed one full breath, before the pain returned. She felt as if her insides would exit her mouth. "I wonder if this is what it's like to have whooping cough," she croaked to herself, and paid dearly for the effort. 

            Jareth closed the book he'd been writing in, it's slamming the only sound. Not the only sound his ears chided. Sarah. Again. He left his chambers immediately, headed for hers.

            Gilda slipped into the girls room, as she often did at night. Especially with her ill, and always abed. Maternal instincts flared at suffering, she'd do all she could to help. She just didn't know how. "Can I get you anything dear?" 

            "Tea would be wonderful," Sarah croaked, smiling up at Gilda. "With honey if you can."

            "Yes, that's worked before. With honey."

            "Thank you," Sarah sighed. She rearranged herself in bed, trying to relax. Then the coughing fits would resume, and nothing could make her comfortable. 

            "I'll bring it momentarily dear."

            Promised seconds later, Sarah looked up upon hearing a sharp rap at her door. Without waiting for a response, Jareth not Gilda, strode into view.

            "What are you doing here?" she whispered. "It's really late."

            He ignored her. "You sound awful, far worse than last night." Jareth advanced to her bed, seating himself beside her, his concern masked by an unreadable smirk. 

Sarah turned away, to avoid coughing towards him, but more importantly to avoid cold mismatched eyes. "That's because I feel terrible," she managed.

"Mmmhmm," he murmured, parting her hair with elegant gloved hands. She gasped, but immediately regretted it as more pain seared. Jareth's breath was warm against her bare neck, unshielded by her tresses. His hands calmly encircled her throat, hands she suddenly realized could snap her delicate neck or strangle her twice over without effort. His fingertips pressed harder into her trachea.

_He's going to kill me, I'm going to die! I'm going to die!  _her mind screamed. Her heart pounded so loudly that she could her pulse drumming in her ears. "What . . .?" she choked out loud, pulling away savagely.

Jareth ceased her movement with his left hand, wrapping it around her torso and yanking her back into his clutches. His right hand remained at her throat, pushing her head back against his chest. She tried to stretch up to safety, but she was far too weak to fight. "Sarah," he questioned dryly, "Do you really place so little trust in me?"

She nodded.

"It was a rhetorical question," he snapped.

Sarah changed her answer by shaking her head 'no.' "Let me go," she whimpered.

"False flattery under false pretense will get you nowhere." His fingers probed her throat, as gently as he could spare to be, nonetheless painfully. She winced, squeezing both eyes closed. "Sit still Sarah," his grip slackened slightly, before he jabbed his thumb between the points of her collarbone. 

Sarah cried out. Jareth winced internally. It was necessary, but he never wanted to cause her pain. Sure, he had caused plenty of emotional and psychological pain, but that had been just as necessary. Otherwise, she would be a world away instead of trapped in his arms. "It had to be done Sarah, I need a source to draw from." He rubbed soft circles over where he had hurt her. She gave out half a yelp. "Shhhh, shhh Sarah. I know," he crooned, allowing himself to catch the sent of her hair as he readjusted her in his arms. "This won't take long." His grip on her throat had tightened again.

"What are you doing to me?" she whispered, so much like one of his stolen children.

"A spell. To take away the pain and let you rest." The most obvious fact in the world, to him anyway. "Now relax," he ordered. She honestly tried, but the tingling sensation beneath his hands unnerved her. Jareth shook his head, "Don't move." He released her throat to pull a glove off with his teeth. Of course she moved, slipping forward out of his direct grasp. "You moved," he commented dryly, leaning forward to return his now bare hand to her throat.

"What did you do that for?" his hand was surprisingly warm against her neck. She had expected his flesh to be cool. Jareth always seemed cold, in mind and manner.

"Why are you forever asking questions?" Sarah opened her mouth, throwing his feel of her throat off. "Rhetorical, do not speak."

"But . . .?" he squeezed gently, stopping her.

"To answer your question,"  he heard her exhale. "My gloves are off, because your throat is to delicate to send random jolts of magic into. More control. Clear?" She nodded. "Now do not move." Brows furrowed in concentration, Jareth set about drawing the pain away from her, through his hands and dissipating into the air.

Gilda hurried back to Sarah's room, careful not to spill the tray she carried. She raised a hand to knock, but stopped when she heard a voice. That of her king. Gilda pressed her ear to the door. She shouldn't be doing this, but she was. _"More control. Clear?"_ she heard Jareth say. She peeked through the keyhole (conveniently at her eyelevel) saw the goblin king's eyes narrow in concentration and widen in a flash of pain. The girl locked in his arms. Gilda rushed back down the hall, to hide in an alcove where she could still hear. But no more sound came from Sarah's room.

The heavy warm tingling faded out of her neck, drowsiness settling in its place. Jareth shook his hand off her neck, slipping his glove back on. Sarah's head lolled against his shoulder; locks of her hair tickling his chest. "Better?" he murmured.

Nothing hurt anymore. Sarah looked up at him. "Thank you," she mouthed.

He slid her down onto her pillows. "Do not sleep just yet." Jareth brushed her hair away from her face, and disappeared.

Getting nervous, Gilda returned to Sarah's door. Peering through the keyhole once more, she saw Sarah alone on her bed. Gilda took up her tray and crept to the girls side. "Miss Sarah," she shook her shoulder. 

"I'm up," the girl turned to her, her eyes slightly glazed.

Gilda's eyes flicked to the red mark impeding the perfect white flesh of her throat. "What did he do?"

"Fixed it, so I'm alright," she yawned "Just tired."

She wasn't sure she understood, but everything seemed alright. "I suppose you don't need this," Gilda set the tea on the nightstand by her bed.

Sarah took it and smiled. "I'll still drink it though. Thanks." She sipped the tea.

"It's nothing dear. Get some rest." Gilda shut the heavy door quietly behind her.

"I'll do that."

"What will you do Sarah?"

"Rest, like you . . ." she looked up, momentarily confused at finding Jareth's face instead of Gilda's. "Like you said," she covered.

"I appreciate your cooperation," he smirked. It was all too ironic, but relieving. Sarah had looked paler each day, her hair hung limply, and she was loosing weight. Pity flooded him, and was immediately quashed in uncanny nonchalance. He studied her face in profile, drinking tea. "Where did you get that?"

"One of the servants brought it to me." It wasn't untrue. Good thing, as Sarah was a terrible liar. The tremor in her voice should have given the whole thing away, but he attributed it to her illness.

"They're getting quicker. Dinner shall arrive shortly."

"I'm not . . ."

"Don't you dare." She didn't, because she was hungry, and she lacked the strength to argue. They sat in silence; Sarah with her tea, lost in thought; his eyes casually noting how she brought the cup to her lips. A knock at the door and choruses of rowdy laughter sent Jareth to the door. "Quiet!" he hissed, levitating the tray to Sarah's bed. "Not a sound down the hall," Jareth warned his goblins. They managed to obey until one burst into exuberant guffaws half way down the corridor. He closed the door against the racket.

Then Jareth turned to Sarah. She begun to eat as soon as food was placed before her. Not greedily or in moderation. She seemed at ease. A grin humanized the Goblin King's features ever so slightly. "That's my Sarah. My Sarah," he whispered, maintaining distance. Now was not the time to her acceptance of his presence; it would become a battle. Then she wouldn't rest as easily as she did now. On rare occasion, Jareth knew how to pick fights. He had plenty of time.

She finished everything set before her. The chicken soup she had enjoyed before was the same. Warm buttered bread was exactly what she needed. Finally, Sarah laid her utensils aside. She yawned, then she coughed. Once then twice. Mournful eyes turned to the Goblin King, who knelt by her side.

"This should not be happening." Jareth reached out; Sarah flinched when he took her neck in his hands. He regarded her back with dismay. Surely he'd proved trustworthy a moment before. His motives were honorable, at present. Of course, if Jareth helped her, she would feel indebted to him. And her added trust wouldn't be wasted. "Lay down. Close your eyes."

She coughed. Sarah didn't want fall asleep in front of the Goblin King. It felt unsafe. Even in his supposedly calm peaceful moods, the man was unnerving. Words of concern, in a voice that never lost it's dark humor, still made her vulnerable. He knew this all to well. An elegant gloved hand passed swiftly over her face, coaxing her eyelids down. "Right now Sarah."

The girl yawned again, as his hand pushed her gently into bed, drawing the covers around her chin before retaking it's position against her trachea. He drew the returning remnants of pain as she drifted off to sleep. Jareth was surprised to find no pain associated with her cough this time. He knew she felt great pain, but the cough itself did not provide it. A quandary then. His hand spidered up, across her cheeks to caress her temple. Long slow strokes her waking mind would never tolerate.

"Alexander!" Jareth peered into crystal.

            The full name, Jareth must really be in a mood. Alexander's eyes twinkled at the prospect. Polite amusement remained the only way to tolerate the man. "Yes Jareth?" 

            "Why have you not returned?" he snarled.

            "Your brother still demands my presence, and you know to whom I must defer."

            "To hell with my brother, his whore and his bastard babe. Sarah . . . ."

            Alexander glanced around, but no one in the high castle Navarre seemed to be near. "Lower your voice." He saw the other man nod, his eyes narrow and cool. "You know I share your sentiments for the man, but do not think to spread them to mother nor infant. Colette is a sweet child, rather like . . ."

            "She is nothing like Sarah!" Jareth interrupted.

            "As you like." It was better not to argue. "Why did you call me? And in such a temper?"

            The goblin king's eyes betrayed his tone, particularly the blue one. His mask slipped slightly, but Alexander was perceptive enough to see it. "She's ill. More so then when you left."

            "Colette is near time. I will probably return before the week is out," Alexander soothed.

            "Can't Draco just call a midwife?" another man would have whined.

            "I'm the best. He knows that, as do I. As do you." 

            "I cannot tend to her myself. I lack the patience, and she suffers under my eyes," he bit out. 

            "You don't do yourself justice," Alexander smiled. "I'm sure she is quite content," he joked, eyes sparkling. 

            "Sarah is quite asleep. I dissipated the pain from her cough, and . . . ."

            "You did what?" Alexander jerked. "Jareth . . . ." he whined.

            "What?" 

            "That's what I asked. It is highly likely she will sleep for some days."

            Jareth's eyes widened, then returned to their normal slant. "Why?"

            "If she is in as much pain as you say, then pain is the same as consciousness." Jareth nearly moaned, a quiet rusty sound, that Alexander recognized just before it was quashed. "This is why I do medicine, and you don't. Raw power versus finesse, in those magics anyway," he winked.

            "Will she be alright?" Jareth left his field of vision in the crystal, pacing back and forth.

            "She'll be well rested, that's certain," he chuckled. "Do not worry, you haven't done any harm."

            He nodded once. "And you will return to tend her as soon as my brother's brat is born?" His lip twisted in disgust.

            "Provided the child is healthy, at the first cry. Until then, keep an eye on her." He waved a hand, and the king's crystal vanished.

            "Xander!" he snapped, to no avail. The bubble burst.

~ ~ ~ ~

            The fey medicine man was true to his word. Sarah slept on, peacefully for days. The king looked in on her as frequently as he could, as did the servant woman who had already grown attached to her. They never saw each other.


	10. Triangles

Standard disclaimer applies. 

**Important note:** You've probably noticed by now that this is not the promised 'Of Comings and Goings' Part II. That's because I only ended up with about ¾ of a chapter and decided to go back to the original plan and just make one. So if you haven't read it, this won't make too much sense. 

It may be too vague anyway, I don't expect the chapter to be overly loved, it's mostly characterization and set up. Forgive me, and please stick with me. Things get more exciting from here on in, and somewhat more explanatory.

Thanks to all those who have reviewed!

And I hope Kessie/Somewherethatsgreen isn't going to sue me for my character development. Je t'adore cherie!

Without further ado . . . . 

Persephone

Chapter 10

Triangles

            Lyja tapped her foot rhythmically against the throne room's stone floor. It did nothing to alleviate her boredom. Every day underground felt utterly familiar, but the most recent were particularly lacking in excitement. After the girl's arrival, the Goblin King forced the castle into as utter silence  as could be brought upon goblins. Jareth himself halted his usual periods of brooding on the throne. He seemed to have disappeared; Lyja knew better. She envied every moment he spent doting over the mortal pet she so desperately longed to be. Dwelling on it wouldn't help. And then, he was there. A cry of delight stifled in Lyja's throat as her king shimmered into view. He sprawled carelessly in on the dais, looking exhausted. One hand braced against his forehead, fingers rubbing his temples, while silver blonde wisps fell forward to his eyes.

            She moved to go to him, but was immediately stopped by the little goblin man who seemed glued to her side all to often these days. "What is it Shel?" she asked tersely.

            He stared up at her. "Nothing . . . I just wanted to talk to you." 

            Lyja sighed. Now her king conversed with another, her chance was lost. "So talk," she slumped back against the wall.

            "Well, I . . . um . . . I . . . it's like . . ."

            "Shel?"

            "Yes Lyja?" 

            If she couldn't entertain herself with Jareth, then Shel would just have to do. She could make him amusing, with some effort. "You're serving at dinner tonight. Yes?" He nodded. Lyja smiled, enjoying every moment of making him think she cared. "Do you think you could do me a favor?"

            Shel beamed, pride seeping through to his ears. "Anything for you Lyja."

            "For me, oh how sweet," she teased, wrapping him around her little finger. 

            "What do you need me to do?"

            "It's just a little thing really," she crooned. "Hardly worthy of your time. But you remember our little talk about Sarah?" She leaned down and dragged two fingers across his cheek. "And how no one underground likes her being here? Someone needs to tell his Majesty." This, she had to admit, was really quite like taking candy from a baby, or pawning your chores off on a younger sibling. Nevertheless, it was devilishly exciting. 

            "But Gilda does," Shel's face lended itself to confusion easily. 

            "You don't, I don't, and trust me the others don't," she closed the distance between them. "You do trust me don't you Shel?"

            Shel blushed, his ears turning pink  "Of course I do, it's just . . ."

Lyja turned away, a wicked grin forming on her face now that her back was turned to him. "You don't think you can do it? Not even for me?" her voice dripped with feigned injury.

            Shel took a deep breath. "Do we really need . . . ."

            "Yes!"

"But . . . ." he tried again. Going against the king was wrong, but if Lyja was asking . . . .

" If you're not goblin enough, I'll find someone else."

In an instant Shel decided. He couldn't let her think he wasn't a man. "I can handle it fine."

"Oh, Shel," she crooned. "It means a lot to me."

"What do you want me to say?"

Certainly, she wouldn't allow the little goblin man to create his own speech. Disaster lurked down that path. Shel's dialogue with the king had more purpose than sole amusement. She needed to plant seeds that could take root in his mind, and the minds of those they claimed for whom to speak. Seeds to water with tears. "Why don't you come with me Shel?"

He looked up, wide eyed and hopeful. "With you Lyja?"

"Yes," slowly a smile spread over her features. He thought she looked more radiant than ever before. "We can go, and discuss this." She glanced around the throne room, cluttered with goblins as always, "alone."

"Of course Lyja." She was paying attention to him, nothing could be better. Talking to the king was a small price to pay. Slowly she spun away, beckoning him to follow. Shel felt a deeper blush run to the roots of his hair, and followed her out of the room.

~ ~ ~ ~

Shel set the wine glass before his king with a clatter. Delicate crystal threatened to overturn; instead, a few drops of red stained the silvery table cloth. "Your Majesty," he stammered.

Jareth waved a hand dismissively. "Never mind it Shoal." He rubbed his temples with the other hand, fighting off a headache still. Sarah's reawakening and further adamancy not to leave her room was particularly tiring. And she still did not know she'd been abed for three days. That would be a confrontation in itself. Besides the continued letters from Navarre, a headache in themselves.

"Shel."

"Whatever."

"Your Majesty," Shel tried again, dabbing pointlessly at the already set stain. "I'd like, um . . . Some of us were wondering . . . um, . . um." He looked to Lyja, (cloistered in a dark corner of the dining room) for assistance. She merely raised an eyebrow; he wouldn't amuse her nearly so much if she helped, better to let him stumble forward alone. Metaphorically, her gesture threw the ball to him, so Shel rambled on. "Your Majesty, we, that is your subjects. Yes subjects, very humble ones at that, we were thinking, yes that's right. We were thinking, I was saying, . . . . I mean, I am speaking right now, to you, the king and . . . . well we thought . . . . ," he stopped, out of breath. Lyja stifled a laugh, thankful the darkness hid her face.

"That?" Jareth prompted.

"That the girl  . . . . ," he looked up pensively.

"What of her?" the king rubbed his temples with more force. 'The girl' had caused him enough trouble for one day.

"Her name is Sarah," Shel offered meekly. Lyja clapped a hand over her mouth.

"I'm aware," he groaned.

"Well . . ."

"Speak up and leave if you please," the king ordered coolly.

Shel took a deep breath. He could do this, especially when Lyja was watching. 

            "We don't think, that is we your subjects, that is we the goblins . . . ."

            "You said that already," Jareth interrupted quickly.

            "We don't approve of her as a potential queen!" 

            Jareth raised one eloquent eyebrow, leaning forward across the table as he did. "I do not recall having asked your opinion, Smell."

            "Shel," his eyes fell to the floor.

            "Nor did I demand the opinion of anyone! As you said, you are _my _subjects." He did not care for their opinions, but the insubordination of the comment came as a surprise, as his goblins did not usually engage in much thought. Then again, his eyes fell on a certain shadowed female when her near silent giggles reached his ears. Perhaps it wasn't really anything new. "Look me in the eye and say it again," he commanded.

            Slowly, the goblin man's gaze rose from the floor to meet his lord's for a brief moment. "We don't . . . ." his voice broke; the contest finished. Shel looked away, blinking rapidly to recover himself.

            "As I thought. Now, get out of  sight before my good humor passes."

            Shel ran.

            Laughter erupted in full force in the corner. The look on his face, both of their faces nearly brought her to tears. The venture had been worth spending time with the scab. "Lyja," her moody king demanded, so she slinked to his side.

            "Well done your Majesty, but why let him go?" she teased, hanging down over the back of his chair. 

            Jareth reached up, sharply grabbed her forearm and spun the woman down to genuflect at his feet. "Because the words were not his own," he snapped.

            Lyja pulled herself closer to his feet, moving to rest her elbows on his knees and stare up. "What if he speaks the truth?"

            Abruptly, Jareth stood, spilling her to the ground before him once again. One boot pushed her away at the shoulder. Lyja frowned, gradually with intent to allure, but her charm was lost on him. She moved her hand to her shoulder, ignoring the pain to savor the contact, however brief. How wonderful it would be to stay by his side, even his feet forever. "Then it is of no consequence," he interjected into her thoughts. "In either event, they are hardly capable of having a worthwhile opinion."

            "That may be so, Majesty," she teased the title as if tasting fine wine. "But don't the rest of us count for anything?"

            "As you speak of yourself, the answer is no."

            Lyja completely ignored his brutal remark, fascinated as she was by his moving lips. She wrapped an arm around his leg, seductively rising alongside him, letting one hand trail behind her. As her lingering hand reached mid-thigh, Jareth jabbed with one knee to throw her off once more. "I grow tired of you."

            "Then why don't you rest," she said, low tones layered into her husky voice.

            "Of you," he repeated. Jareth snapped his fingers and the Lyja found herself looking into the blackness of an oubliette. Quietly, he sat back down and ate in solitude. Thoughts of Sarah echoed through the silence.

~ ~ ~ ~

            Shel and Gilda too shared a abnormally silent meal in the empty kitchen. She studied his face, noticing lines of worry that usually were indistinguishable on goblin skin. "How was your day?"

            "It went alright. Yours?"

            "Rather boring. Being stuck in the kitchen itself usually is," she struggled to create conversation, but Shel seemed preoccupied. And it all sounded so formal, so distant; this was not at all normal between them. 

            "Yeah," he watched the hall. Gilda sighed, so he tried harder. "So you didn't do anything interesting at all?"

            "I didn't even get to go see Sarah."

            "That's to bad." He craned his neck to see more of the hall. 

"It is." Gilda narrowed her eyes. Usually, Shel would attempt to say something veiled or witty about Sarah and how she shouldn't be there. It never was witty, and but she missed his attention, even if the topic was like a burr in their relationship. There was precious little else to discuss in the labyrinth.

Shel got up hastily and placed dirty dishes in the sink. Lyja should have come to talk to him by now, granted she thought he'd be waiting in the throne room. Lyja must have sorted things out, she was smart like that. "Ah, Gilda, I've got to go. See you later." He darted from the room without a backward glance.

Gilda stared after him, confusion apparent in her face. Where could Shel possibly have to go with the king's dinner nearly over? He always stayed with her so they could eat together. 

Shel had never before dared to speak directly with the king, today he was going to do it twice. He wandered back to the king's dinning hall and quietly admitted himself. Surprisingly, the monarch still lounged in the anteroom, having taken a seat in a grand armchair before the fire. He sipped absently at a drink while pouring through a strangely colored book as if thirsty only for it's contents. "Your Majesty?" he queried.

"What do you think of this? _'Drama club, art classes with Sarah, and Shakespearian egg rolls forever! I love you all will forever be known as the one who got Sar and Brent together. Go me! Well, here's to Julliard! Madeline Aldrich.'_" He read aloud to no one in particular.

"Your Majesty?"

This time, Jareth looked up from the series of black and white photographs depicting face after face. "I thought I told you to leave."

"You did sire. I will. But I was looking for Lyja," he stuttered.

"You'll find her in the oubliette. Now be gone or you'll join her."

Shel obeyed, cursing his lack of courage and wondering what to do. He took the king at his word, and returned to Gilda who was patiently waiting where he had left her. Meanwhile, Jareth resumed his reading.

~ ~ ~ ~

"She will be queen! You! You have your drink and your party after your work is though and even more often than is tolerable. I have been I fair rex, now I ask you all to be honest with me for a single moment." The king paced before his goblin subjects; assembled in a nearly orderly line such that they almost didn't look like a joke. Almost. "Did any of you truly express concern at the arrival of Lady Sarah?" A general shaking of heads; no they had not. "Well then, what _is_ the _opinion_ of the populace?"

Most of the faces regarded him blankly. Few more than three showed some spark of concern at the question. Gilda looked on in surprise, wondering exclusively what Sarah would say if she were to hear of his plans for her. No danger there, with her still in her chambers. Shel watched in indignation, disbelieving that they could tell Lyja the truth, yet not their ruler when he demanded it. 

The third figure was a younger goblin woman, graced with nearly smooth skin and violet eyes that set her apart from the already rare female goblins. She spoke up guardedly, "It would be nice, your Majesty. To have a queen."

 "And then we could have a wedding!" an inebriated goblin slurred.

 "I love weddings! Drinks all around!" another lifted a keg and a wave from their master allowed chaos to retake the hall.

Jareth grimaced, no goblins would be at his wedding, when it inevitably came to pass. Despite the fact Sarah still refused to leave her room claiming illness, it would happen and he had time. The king redirected a final sweeping glance over his subjects. They had no opinion just as he thought; their lacking intelligence was indeed evident. And with Lyja locked away in the oubliette, they wouldn't be getting one, ever.


	11. Forces Set in Motion

Well, Monday Thursday, it's all the same. I must give school priority, much to my chagrin. Thanks to all for reviews. I hope my explanation of recent events isn't too wishy-washy. But here goes . . . .

Oh, and standard disclaimer applies.

Persephone

Chapter 11

Forces Set in Motion

            "Sarah," Gilda pleaded. "Will you come to the library with me and choose another book?" She hoped she didn't appear too desperate to lure the girl out of bed. First, Sarah slept under the king's overzealous spell. When it lifted, she still didn't leave her chambers. Nor did she take care of herself. Dingy hair hung limp alongside her now lean pale cheeks. She was probably loosing weight, but Gilda couldn't tell with Sarah always abed. The girl's mysterious illness never remanifested itself after the king pulled her pain from her body. She didn't suffer fever or cough, instead it was replaced by a certain sense of gloom. Jareth looked in on her frequently, but he hadn't been particularly forceful in the two days since she awoke. As such, her condition sunk even lower without him to annoy her into humanity. Privately, Gilda found herself wanting the king to physically drag the girl out of her stuffy chamber, simply because it was becoming necessary. 

            "Maybe some other time," Sarah shrugged, absently turning the page to draw closer to finishing her Tolkien book. No need to get a new one just yet. "If you see something that looks interesting, you could drop it by here."

            Gilda sighed. At this rate the girl would waste away long before her term of forever came into play.

~ ~ ~ ~

            "Sarah! That's enough!" Gilda slammed a bowl down on her tray. "Don't you realize what you're doing to yourself?" Anger clouded her normal calm nature; Sarah's blatant refusal of breakfast finally sending her over the edge.

            "I'm not doing anything."

            "Exactly. Look at yourself child!" Gilda's eyes traveled over the girl's form to be sure she spoke the truth. Sarah's green ones followed their gaze. "All skin and bone, then refusing perfectly good porridge?"

            "I'm just not hungry." 

            "Pah! You're never hungry. That's precisely the problem."

            "Gilda there isn't a problem," Sarah begged. However, this time the goblin woman had enough of listening.

            "You don't care for yourself, you've been moping in this room for far too long. Get cleaned up, go outside, get some air. Just stop sitting in here," Gilda pleaded. She couldn't bare to see her young friend suffer, at her own hand.

            "I'm sick," Sarah protested, pouting like a child who refused to go to school the Monday after spending a week out with the flu.

            "Not anymore. You were ill before, shocked I'd say. This isn't ill," she poked Sarah's shoulder. "This is sad." Her tone changed, suddenly going from the inquisitor to  more natural, kind and Gilda-like. "You can't be sad for the rest of your life, not like this dear."

            "I don't want to live here!" her face fell. 

            "I know dear," Gilda patted her shoulder reassuringly. They seemed to run over this territory quite frequently. "I know you're unhappy, but you can't let yourself express it this way." Sarah nodded, staring down at her book. "So let's go for a walk, alright?" 

            "No."

            "Dearie . . ." Sarah ignored her, looking intently into her book. In a flash of insight, Gilda snatched it from under her nose.

            "Hey! That's mine, give it back!"

            "No," Gilda parroted.

            "Please Gilda?"

            The goblin woman smiled; she had to admit that playing by such tactics was highly entertaining. The scowl on her adoptive charge's face was truly priceless. "Eat your breakfast. All of it."

"But Gilda . . ." she whined.

"Until the porridge is gone, the book stays with me," Gilda replied triumphantly. Even such a small power brought new confidence, invigorating and unnerving at the same time, but it did give her the leverage to help Sarah, in an ironic way. Satisfied, she observed Sarah as she grudgingly lifted a full spoon to her mouth, then departed.

Jareth was particularly glad he hadn't appeared directly in Sarah's room this morning, the idea of stopping a moment to knock allowed him to hear the entire exchange. She got only a little way down the hall before: "Gelly!," stopped her in her tracks.

Gilda froze, "Yes Your Majesty?"

He paced around her in predatory circles. "So it's you. It's you who has come to see her. You who has kept watch on her. I knew it!" he lunged, plucking Sarah's novel from her fingers.

"Please sire, I . . . ."

Jareth held out a hand to silence her, now that he held his own anger in check. He would not disturb Sarah, nor were these words for her ears. "Follow me." Meekly, Gilda trudged after her lord, hoping that simple friendship had not become a crime in the underground.

            "Galley . . . ."

            "Gilda."

            "Yes. How long have you been in contact with Sarah?" his calm voice betrayed the anger concealed beneath it in menacing whisper.

            Gilda shivered. Even knowing he would eventually discover and be displeased with their relationship, the actual confrontation was more frightening. "Since she came, your Majesty."

            "Would you care to explain what you told her?" he loomed over Gilda, casting her entire form into shadow despite the darkness of the study.

            "She needs to leave her room," Gilda replied. The last time she spoke with him, it ended with her running to Shel in tears when he forbid their committal ceremony. Ever since then, both went out of their way to avoid him.

            "I'm aware." He crossed the room, staring into the fireplace and speaking to the flames instead of her. "What ails her?"

            "Now or then highness?" 

            Gilda watched him, silhouetted against the reds and oranges. She saw his shoulders slump ever so slightly in an unconcealed half sigh. "Is there a difference?" Jareth bit out.

            Gilda nodded, but he didn't turn around to look at her, so she started to explain. "I think Sarah was in shock when she came to the labyrinth. The girl lost her family, her freedom and her world in the space of  an hour. She suffered undue . . . ."

            "Spare me the details of my cruelty. Sarah herself will surely explain them all should I wish to listen," he snapped. 

            "Of course Majesty," he spun back to her. Gilda went on, feeling small. "She was shocked. The stress made her faint. It gave her the fevers, and the hallucinations," She babbled.

            "What hallucinations?" he spat.

            "When she first had the fever, it was so awful and she was dreaming while she was awake and . . . ."

            "So that explains it," Jareth whispered. Now, of course it made sense. She hadn't known who he was when she crawled to him and asked for a song, but she knew afterwards to escape from him. Desire was blinding, he was blind.

            "Pardon, your Majesty?"

            "Continue. What of her coughing?"

            "A creation of her mind, still convinced of it's illness. Sarah's always had a strong imagination, you know. And she got what she wanted from it," Gilda looked down. Telling the king this was like, well, a death sentence to put things bluntly.

            "And what was that precisely?" he hissed, leaning closer and making Gilda shiver despite the fire.

            "She did not want to spend time . . . ."

            "With me." He slammed a fist down hard against the nearby table, clattering candle sticks dangerously close to her hair.

            She jumped away. "Yes."

            He stood silent and stoic a long moment. At long last he waved her off, "You are dismissed Goldy."

            "Gilda." She knew she should retreat retaining the flavor she had. But now she had questions that pushed irrationally to the forefront. "You Majesty?" she questioned nervously.

            "Be brief."

            "May I continue to see the girl? She is in need of a friend and I . . . ."

            "No." Jareth advanced on her, speaking a word with every step. "You may serve her at meals when she does not eat with me." Gilda backed into the door. "Which will not be often anymore."

            "Your Majesty?" she began to plead.

            "You will not see her. Be gone!" 

            Like Shel, she could not stand up to the Goblin King. Gilda too fled. Jareth watched her go and proceeded to call on Alexander. Without pause for any form of greeting, he interrogated the older fae as to Gilda's diagnosis. Sadly, the other man could not disagree.

            With his usual casual confidence, Jareth strode into Sarah's room. She sat in bed, fuming over the empty porridge bowl beside her. He smirked, crossing immediately to open the drapes and spread the labyrinth's red sunlight through the room. "Good morning Sarah."

            "Morning," she replied sourly, wincing as the light found her eyes.

            He moved back to her. "I see that my goblin has found a way to make you eat."

            "She stole my book," Sarah whined.

            "Pity," Jareth smirked, producing the coveted novella from behind his back. _The mighty Goblin King, reduced to holding a book hostage,_ he admitted it was shameful. _The ends would justify the means._

            "You've got my book!" She stretched towards him. "Give it back!"

            Jareth ignored her protests; instead he vanished the novel, took a fistful of her blankets in a gloved hand and yanked. All cascaded off to the floor. "I'll return the book in the evening; if you cooperate." She stared, wide eyed but furious up at him before making to grab her covers back. Jareth blocked and took her hand, pulling her to stand before him.

            "Unhand me!" she shrieked at his rough treatment. 

            "Temper temper little Sarah." He found her particularly alluring while glaring daggers at him. He stepped forward despite her struggles, catching a whiff of her scent. Normally, she smelled mild and sweet. Sometimes faintly floral, others citrus, but always distinctly Sarah. Now…, he wrinkled his nose, too distinctly Sarah. "You require a bath." Without warning he disappeared, leaving the girl engulfed in glitter.

            A few minutes later, Jareth reemerged from her bathroom amidst billowing steam. His eyes traveled nonchalantly over the room, seeking Sarah. He discovered her lying in bed, recovered as if asleep. He knew immediately that she wasn't. Without hesitation he strode over and scooped her into his arms.

            Ever the actress, Sarah played her part well, just not well enough. Jareth knew from her sharp intake of breath and the tension her body despite her obediently closed eyes that she wasn't sleeping. With a smirk, he slid nimble fingers to unfasten the buttons at the nape of her neck. That got a reaction.

            She screamed like a banshee and swung wildly at him. "Sarah, you are positively uncivilized," he shook his head while avoiding her onslaught with ease.

            "What are you doing?" she panted.

            "Giving you a bath," he replied innocently despite a wicked gleam in mismatched eyes.

            Sarah wrenched free from his grip and ran across the room. Condescending, lecherous, evil man that he was, she noted delight on his thin features. "No."

            "Then you may do it yourself. Regardless, you'll have a bath, get dressed and accompany _me_ on a walk." Sarah opened her mouth to scream at him some more, tell him exactly what she thought of him and make sure she sent no conflicting messages, but he continued before she could press the advantage. "All that's up for debate is just how much physical force it takes to accomplish my aims."

            "You! . . ." she came to a halt. All words having fled her in anger, she fumed openly. 

            He pointed one long finger at the open bathroom door. She stomped past him, muttering indecencies he was sure, and slammed the door behind her. Jareth grinned; he was winning. The fact that she fought tooth and nail only made victory more sweet.

            Sarah mused silently in the bath, tracing whirlpools in foamy water then watching as the bubbles faded away. Jareth might have expected her to be quick, but if he was going to order her into the bathroom, well, she'd be taking her sweet time. The door locked on her side anyway. Sarah admitted feeling clean again made her slightly more alive. She inhaled deeply, enjoying the smell of jasmine and leaned back against the tub allowing her eyes to fall shut.

            Exhale. "Sarah?" a sharp rap on the door brought her out of her reverie. He heard her groan. "I'll set some clothing out for you. What would you like to wear?"

            She rolled her eyes hopefully at the wall and sighed deeply. Fine if he had to _force _her into the tub, but to constantly invade her scarcely found privacy bordered on an offense she'd smack him for. If, he wasn't the Goblin King. Jareth waited pseudo patiently, he knew she'd be as sore a looser as he was, nearly. At last she spoke, full of exasperation: "Something comfortable. My jeans."

            Jareth leaned against the door, settling his weight with a thump. "Not acceptable dear Sarah."

            "You let me bring them," she countered.

            "They're for . . . another time." Never if he had his way. Her preference for blue denim did not befit a queen, so he planned to break her of  the habit. That aside, they failed to fulfill the potential of her beauty. "Choose something else now, or I will."

            "I'll pick thank you," she snapped.

            "It will be a dress, though nothing elaborate is necessary."

            "Fine. Something short then."

            "I think not."

            "Why?"

            "Not appropriate in the underground." 

Sarah was silent a moment. "What's in my closet?" she wondered aloud.

            Jareth snatched a select few dresses fromthe closet. He knew immediately where to find his favorites, some of which were chosen long ago. For the moment, he held those she wouldn't object to, he hoped. Lavish silk and decadent brocade over his arm, Jareth appeared behind her. "Try one of these," he whispered, laying a hand on her moist bare shoulder. Startled, she slid lower into the water, biting her lip. He smiled at her modesty, though unnecessary through the waning bubbles. "Hmm?" He dangled two dresses before her. One was a simple sheath, violet and then laced from hip to waist with darker satin ribbon. The other had bell sleeves and skirt, laced and lower cut in front than the other, but still sensible and demure. 

            "You call those comfortable?"

"Indeed, though perhaps not comparably to your beloved pants," he chided.

She sighed, "What do you want me to do, close my eyes and point?"

"If you like." 

"I'll wear the purple one I guess."

"Violet."

She sighed, add overly competitive to her growing list of dislikes. "Just leave it here and go." 

"I'll wait for you outside," he corrected. "Don't be too long." He lingered behind her, fingering a few strands of hair that fell over the tub's marble rim. Sarah sunk lower in the water, pulling glistening locks with her. The distraction removed, he hung the dress and left a fluffy towel on the chair before exiting. 

_Insufferable_, Sarah thought.

What in the underground convinced someone to make such a garment? The simple looking dress proved to be nothing but in theory. The ribbons snaked corset-like up the wearer in an impossible pattern. They crisscrossed wildly, and Sarah was forced to admit she had no idea where to turn them next. Beaten by a goblin woman, her king, and a dress all in one day did nothing for her pride.

But beaten didn't mean admitting defeat. She tied the ribbons hastily in a semi-logical way and reentered her bedroom. The Goblin King lounged in regal glory on the couch by her fire, reminding her never to sit there again. She withheld some choice words, went to the demure vanity and took a brush to wet hair.

Jareth chuckled darkly as she went by; the dress he chose had after all been intentional. He knew she couldn't possibly manage the over piece of ribbon alone. "It appears as though you could use a little help." Jareth moved to stand behind her, and pulled on a ribbon allowing the bow to unravel in his hand. He smirked, "This isn't how it goes."

"This dress is impossible!" She stamped one foot, then dropped her brush as he deftly wove the ribbons about her delicate waist.

"Nervous are you?" He didn't need an answer, she was speechless and trembling again. The ribbon pulled tight, perfectly fitted to her. "Finished," he whispered, but didn't back away.

Sarah moved fluttering hands to sopping hair. It drained down her back. Couldn't he move? Of course not, that wouldn't be nearly condescending enough. Chocolate tresses always divided easily into three sections for a simple braid that would keep water from streaming down her back, but nervous hands became useless in the space of the king's single breath. 

"Allow me," with care, gloved hands took hair from her own.

She swatted them away. "Stop that. I can do it myself, you don't need to treat me like an invalid . . . ."

"You insisted upon being one not a moment ago dear Sarah. No, I think this is just what sort of care you require." 

She shivered. "I'm not your doll."

"No, you tremble a great deal more. Now let me." Stronger fingers shooed hers away and began to weave a design into a plait. The task would have been far more enjoyable and easier without gloves, but he kept them on. The more fabric between them, the more at ease she seemed.

Sarah sat silent, pouting slightly and playing with her hands. She couldn't find a proper excuse and was tired of fighting for the day, so she had to let him style her hair. "It doesn't have to be perfect, just quick."

"For you Sarah, there is nothing but perfection," he murmured.

"Sure, whatever," she grumbled. "Couldn't you just hocus pocus it?"

"Could, but will not." He tied off the plait with a thin violet ribbon and admired his work, handing Sarah a mirror at the same time. "Beautiful."

Her eyes rolled at his awed tone, but she had to admit the braid was exquisite. Essentially a French braid, yet not. Small sections twisted and other lost themselves looking altogether reminiscent of a Celtic knot. "Where did you learn how to do this?" she whispered staring into the mirror in which his image stayed out of focus over her shoulder.

"Horses actually."

"You have . . . horses? Here?" her whole face brightened.

"And where else pray tell?" he jested. "I would think it obvious," Jareth glanced down at his boots, despite stylistic leeway, they had distinct equestrian origins.

"Well . . . ."

He guarded his tone carefully, "Do you like them?" Sarah nodded, and he allowed himself a slight smile. Perhaps, provided with some common ground civility on at least one subject could be found. "Can you ride?"

"I'd be a little rusty," she shrugged. "It's been along time since Nightingale. . ." Sarah sighed; remembering the Morgan she'd ridden every day before moving to the suburbs when Toby was born had restricted her access to lessons. Jareth noted the melancholy creeping into her voice, and knew that despite the sore subject, she missed the creatures. "Can I go see them?"

"I'll take you presently. When you've recovered fully, I'll see about letting you ride."

"Why not today?"

"You are quite well then?" he smirked, having trapped the girl in her own web.

Sarah averted her eyes and coughed quietly on her handkerchief in response. "Another time," she agreed.

"Come on then." He stood in one fluid motion, the epitome of grace, and extended a hand. Sarah refused it, and preceded him out the door.


	12. Definitions

Update October 6, 2007: Also did a little editing here because I was trying to find references for chapter 35. Ironically, they're not in this chapter, but I cleaned up the worst of the cringe worthy grammar and altered a few bits.

Original Authors Note: Well, it's been awhile. My computer is very very broken. I have no internet, CD-rom drive etc. Basically, if it's solitaire or Microsoft word it works. So now I'm updating from my mom's office. However, don't ever think that I won't finish this story. In one way the breakdowns good, I'm writing ahead. Anyhow, enjoy with standard disclaimer.

Persephone

Chapter 12

Definitions

The mare nickered as Sarah scratched her ear. The girl laughed and petted the horse's gleaming velvet sides.

From the shadows ever-present around him, the king observed them. A smile crept unbidden to his lips at her tinkling laughter, quiet yet with the joyful purity of bells. It carried a ray of light into his long besmirched soul.

"Does she have a name?" Sarah asked, absently twirling her fingers in midnight mane.

"Alas no," the king stepped away from the wall and moved to stand outside the stall door. "She's a broodmare, albeit a favorite of mine." He torqued his wrist and a rose red apple appeared in his gloved palm.

"She should have a name."

He extended the apple to Sarah. "Why? I know humanity feels a need to name everything, but do you genuinely require more power over a domesticated animal?"

Sarah looked at the fruit suspiciously before turning back to stroke the horse without touching or acknowledging it. "It's not about power."

He feigned disgust at her dismissal. "Oh but Sarah," he drawled entering the stall behind her, "It is. Words have meaning naive Sarah, names have power. She," he reached over Sarah's shoulder to stroke the mare's cheek. The girl flinched away, but he paid no outward notice, "has no power to require suppression."

"It's not about that!"

"Then what, pray tell," he placed his other hand on her opposite shoulder, dangling the apple worthy of Eve from elegant fingers, "is it about?"

Sarah slid along the mare's flank, avoiding his light touch. "Affection, familiarity?" she suggested. He laughed; it sent a shiver up her spine. "You can't just call her horse."

Calmly, he extended the apple Sarah refused and let the mare daintily take it with velvet lips. "Why call her anything?" he argued. "She is after all _just _a broodmare."

Sarah pursed her lips, trying hard not to look childish and indignant. "She still deserves a name." Her technique was admittedly imperfect.

Jareth closed the space between them, leaving the girl no escape route. "You may name her if you wish it." Sarah nodded pensively; he regarded the wisps of hair fleeing from her braid. "Well?"

"It requires some thought. The name has to mean something."

He smirked, "Velvet."

Sarah rolled her eyes, "Boring."

"True, Noire perhaps?"

She glanced over her shoulder, but turned away at finding his eyes boring into hers. "What kind of name _is_ that?"

"French."

The girl nodded, "Oh."

He took another step towards her. "Her father's name was Nigellus, if that helps."

"I'm not naming her for her father," Sarah replied, heat creeping into her voice, nervous at his proximity. She breathed deeply, "I want to call her Nightengale." The girl stroked the horse's neck. "Would you like that girl?" In response, the newly dubbed Nightengale nickered.

"She's yours now; once her foal is born that is," he stepped back, letting Sarah feel that she had room to breathe.

"Mine?" The mare's broad sides now held a new mystique under her fingers.

"You named her."

"Well, yes."

Jareth nodded, "Unless you'd rather another; I do have better." The mare's quality was undeniable, but her breeding peculiar. She had no talented or overly beautiful linage, though she herself neared perfection. Truly, the allegorical diamond in the rough waiting to shimmer.

"No, I like her very much." Nightengale nosed Sarah's waistline inquisitively, running her teeth over the fabric to search for hidden pockets or treats.

Jareth's thin lips parted in another slight smile. "I'll let you two spend a few moments getting acquainted." She nodded, distracted by her new horse's investigation of her hands. Once again an apple appeared in the king's palm. "You may have need of this." The king set the crimson apple on the stall door, turned and peripherally watched as the mare accepted it from Sarah's hand.

x x x x

At the other end of the stable, the darker one, another, equally dark horse greeted his master. The great animal stood well over nineteen hands, so that despite the king's own height he scarcely saw over his back. His uminous raven mane fell over his neck and into his face, covering liquid hazel eyes. No white marred his perfect ebony coat, whereas the mare's forehead sported a star. This horse did have the legacy, son of Jareth's elder stallion, and grandson of his father's most prized. Admittedly, from king of men to the king of beasts, the animal's only problem was his domineering temperament. Nevertheless, master and steed had long reached an accord.

Jareth entered the spacious stall, offered another conjured apple and formed a crystal as his horse ate. "They are beautiful, eh Pradosh?" Stroking the stallions crested neck, he observed Sarah via the crystal. She had discovered a box of grooming tools and took to making the mare's coat shine in his absence. "Simply marvelous." The stallion snorted quietly; Jareth scratched behind the horse's ear. "I hope to get your legacy from that mare Pradosh. And the girl . . . ." he trailed off. Jareth listened while Sarah talked to her new horse, though her words were nonsensical. "Both already queens in their own right, and yet to be more," his fingers twisted into the destrier's mane, finding a familiar pattern while he regarded Sarah. Pradosh, not unused to such leisure activities, (through the girl now resided in the castle) seemed to watch her image as well. Or perhaps he regarded the newly dubbed Nightengale, it was impossible to tell.

"Hello?"

At the sudden sound of her sweet voice, the goblin king looked up from his horse and a now vacant crystal, mildly confused but not allowing it to show on his face. "Yes Sarah?" he stepped away from the horse towards her.

The girl played with her hands nervously, "I was just getting a little concerned, being by myself and . . . ." Seeing the majestic stallion, she stepped past Jareth and reached out to touch him.

Jareth's horse snorted and threw his head, teeth snapping. She stepped back; Jareth moved to stand directly behind her. "Careful Sarah, Pradosh is not as gentle as your . . . ahem, Nightengale." He laid a hand on the horse's neck, despite the sharp gnashing of teeth. The animal quieted immediately under his master's touch. "More slowly Sarah."

"He won't . . . ?"

"He won't hurt you, not while I'm here," Jareth murmured.

She reached out to the stallion again to stroke his velveteen nose, but he snatched his head back. Retreating hastily, she backed into Jareth, gasping for breath.

"Shh, Shh, like this." Gently, he captured her wrist in one hand, placing her's between the horses eyes, releasing before she could resist.

Tentatively, Sarah rubbed the horse's poll as he lowered his head, hazel eyes closing. "He's beautiful," she whispered.

"I believe Pradosh would prefer _handsome_," Jareth smirked, watching his stallion lounge into the girl's caress.

"Probably true."

"Do you like him?"

"_Like_ him?"

"He is the best, my personal mount," Jareth reached over Sarah's shoulder again to stroke his horse.

"Oh."

"And the sire of your Nightengale's foal."

She didn't pay attention to him, seemingly lost in the great horse's eyes. Her fingers crept into his thick forelock, as the Goblin King's hand found her own tresses where they escaped the damp plait.

Jareth found he could not resist. She looked so perfect there with his horse, calming the great warrior just like a fair maiden from one of her fairytales. None but he could hold power over Pradosh, a tradition amongst the kings of his family. Truthfully, he longed to have the small amount of trust she gave Pradosh, but the necessary dependence would come in time. Or not, it would make little difference in the long run. One day, they'd sit side by side, King and Queen astride black horses.

Jareth had managed to twirl one finger around a loose lock before she noticed. His fingers in her hair felt natural, to him at least. Sarah spun away, landing with her back to the wall. "Don't do that," she whispered, wide eyed and fearful.

"Sarah," he murmured advancing toward her, "Sarah, Sarah."

"Don't do that either!" she snapped with as much fortitude as came naturally to one cornered by the Goblin King.

He stepped forward, she shrank back into the wall as he loomed over. "Must you be so contrary?" he whispered. His eyes bored into hers, a hand reaching for the chocolate lock he was forced to drop before.

Through her terror at his simple action, she stuck out her chin indignantly, managing, "I said stop it!"

He promised himself he wouldn't frighten her away, difficult as that seemed, but she was so close already. Irresistible. Jareth touched her face gently, brushing her cheek. "Relax Sarah, you have nothing . . . ."

The girl turned away, covering her flesh as if burned. "And I meant it." Before he could stop or threaten her, she ducked under his confining arm, and immediately fled the stable.

Her footsteps pattered into the distance, soft slaps echoing on stone. For a moment, Jareth regarded the wall intently, before pounding it with a fist. Her childish expression 'Whoops' covered the situation remarkably well. The stallion snorted; his master rounded on him in turn. "Not one word."

X X X X

Sarah lifted her head from a tear stained pillow. She felt lost and utterly alone, except for the one who had brought her here, and he terrified her. Leather and spikes and man that she didn't want to understand even if that was possible. She desperately longed to see Gilda, and old friends even more so. Sarah had heard nothing of them, nor dared to ask. Honestly, she wondered if they lived, what could have happened to them, what he could have done . . . .

Needing comfort, she got up to search for the only familiar faces she possessed, like those of Brent and Madeline. With Lancelot tucked under her arm, Sarah began looking for her photos and high school yearbook, those precious things she'd brought from her real home. Not finding the yearbook on her shelf, she began another exploration of her room.

There were still three doors, two locked and one leading to a short corridor culminating in a . . . . she turned the handle; formerly locked door. Cautiously she peered around it, and found herself in a dimly lit study. At least the room wasn't black. A banked fire created an almost cheery glow against red leather furniture. Mahogany bookcases covered the walls, accented with hundreds of dusty gold spines of volumes. One lay open on the desk, obviously different from the others and the one she had been questing for. Her yearbook revealed the pages of Senior memories, Madeline's to be specific. Aside from lists of clubs and the junior class, it was the only place her name could be found. The place where Madeline took credit for getting her younger friend together with Brent. Sarah grimaced, he had read this?

Damn him, he had no right. It was hers after all. Sarah stared down at Madeline's picture, highlighted blond hair and thick funky glasses showing the essence of her character. Friends meant so much, and yet she was alone.

His entrance through the opposite door saved her from cyclic thought. "How did you get here?" Jareth asked quietly, finding the runaway in his study.

She spun on him, clutching the book of shattered memories protectively to her chest. "This is mine! You have no right to take it."

Externally, one elegant eyebrow arched slightly, internally a spasm of guilt passed into nothingness without a second thought, "Everything in my labyrinth belongs to me." He changed the subject, digging slightly: "Why did you flee, just now?"

Sarah wasn't about to let him get away with practiced aversion. "So what?"

"I had every right."

"It's mine! It's my rightful property," a flicker of sadness crossed her face.

Jareth ambled towards her, this time the girl held her ground. "Private property has no place in an absolute monarchy. Everything in this kingdom belongs to the monarch. That is to me, not to you. The only way you would ever have some ownership here," he paused for dramatic, spine-tingling effect, "would be as my queen." _And I would own you, even more thoroughly._

"Do you want to know what happened to the absolute monarchs in my world?" her voice dripped with venom. Her eyes mirrored the fire's heated coals.

"Not particularly," he drawled, thinking of how she would look on his arm, by his side, forever.

"I'm going to tell you anyway."

"As you wish."

"They were ousted from power. Or better yet," she slid a single finger across her throat, waiting for him to react with some outrage at her defiance. "Beheaded, Guillotined or Decapitated." She'd make him angry, and then he would let her alone to do as she pleased, read and sulk most likely.

The plan was flawed in assuming she could push him further than he pushed her. The comment stung; the king had to admit he disliked finding her opinion so low and viscous, but he knew how to change opinions. "You still owe me dinner and had best go change," he remarked casually.

Sarah gaped at him, thrown off-guard, precisely as he intended. Then her eyes narrowed and she stuck out her chin once more. "You'll bring my other book?"

He nodded remembering the hostage Tolkien, "As per our arrangement. And wear something, . . . a bit more formal."

"Fine," she scowled.

"Let me know if you require assistance," Jareth smirked.

She tucked the yearbook under one arm and left, unable to stand the sight of him any longer. Walking back to her room, Sarah suddenly realized just how easy she'd let him off for stealing and reading her yearbook. It wasn't so bad as a diary, but never the less . . . She stomped down through the corridors. So he had given her a horse, if his infernal majesty was going to pilfer her things and then demand she eat in the same room, well, he'd pay.

Jareth allowed amusement to spread across his face as he listened to her echoing footfalls. It was a good thing Alexander had come home, the evening could stand a moderator.

x x x x

After assuring that her yearbook was well hidden, Sarah sat on her bed. She didn't change her clothes. In reality, that was the only small act of defiance she could pull off, aside from making sure she made no effort to get to dinner on her own. With nothing to read, she stared off into space dreading a knock at her door.

The awaited knock turned out to be the older fae she recalled as Alexander. He smiled, and escorted her down the hall while whispering jokes in her ear. Before she realized, they arrived at the dinning hall. Alexander pulled out a chair for her as Jareth entered the room.

His gaze flicked over her. "You didn't change."

"No I did not," she stated all to proudly.

"This time it goes by, not again," Jareth reprimanded. "In fact . . ."

The elder man caught his kings eye, a warning glance at the young woman slumped in her chair averted confrontation. Alexander stood once more, producing two wine bottles in one hand. He poured blood red wine for the king and turned to Sarah. "What would you like dear Lady?" he asked with a wink.

She pursed her lips, and looked from Alexander's blue eyes to Jareth's mismatched ones. "I can't." Jareth raised an eyebrow so she stumbled onwards. "I'm not old enough."

"Seventeen, I recall. What would you prefer?"

Jareth held up a hand, she had to forget. "You aren't Aboveground anymore Sarah," he reprimanded.

"I know, but," she protested. The whole idea was foreign. Perhaps Karen's overprotective parenting was to blame, but she'd never had more than a sip of her father's champagne at New Years, before they sent her to bed. Breaking the rules felt like baptism, baptism into a culture of which she wanted no part.

"Wine with dinner is customary here," he instructed in a clipped tone. "There is a first time for everything. Pour her some of the red Xander, yours is particularly dry."

Alexander complied, pouring the red wine for Sarah, and a glass of white for himself. She regarded the liquid as though she might poke it with a stick, and finally took a small sip under his Majesty's watchful gaze. Mentally, she cursed herself for having fallen into obedience, and because the stuff tasted foul. All at once heady and heavy, sweet and tart, she couldn't understand what the adult population of her world saw in it.

Her nose wrinkled and she swallowed sharply. The expression might have made him laugh, under different circumstances. The glass plunked down ungracefully, forcing him to notice the utter crudeness of her table manners. In the manner of an earthly teen, she slouched, hastily cut meat into large chunks, used her fork in her left hand when convenient, left the linen napkin on the table and continued to scowl at both drink and company. Aside from taking quiet offence that she didn't like his personal taste in wine, Jareth observed that etiquette training could not begin soon enough. Judging from Alexander's amused expression, he had reached the same conclusion as well. Somehow, she still managed to flatter his eye in her peasant ways.

The silence aside from the clash of forks shattered as Sarah slammed down her wine glass. "Can't I just have water? This stuff tastes like Dimetapp."

The goblin king expertly raised his eyes as though he had not already been watching her. "Beg pardon?" Alexander chuckled quietly at the battle he foresaw.

"Nasty grape cold medicine. Never mind it's just disgusting stuff."

"Fine wine."

"Gross!"

"Wine is an acquired taste my dear. You'll simply have to acquire it," he stated evenly.

"I will not."

"I'll find another wine that suits your tastes tomorrow."

"I'm not having dinner with you tomorrow," she hissed.

He smirked. "You'll have dinner with me when I wish it." Alexander laughed aloud, Jareth shot him a look. "Perhaps privately."

"I'm not drinking this awful stuff or eating with you," she pouted slightly.

Jareth nearly sighed. Maybe he had packed too much into one day. She'd become used to his world, his wine, his schedule, and his whims. "I'll repeat that you're in no position to negotiate."

Suddenly Alexander looked up, a hand flying to his temples. "I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me Jareth, there appears to be trouble with Cosette."

"Are you all right?" Sarah inquired, automatically reaching out to him.

Alexander winced, but smiled at her proffered kindness. "It's just Draco's lack in subtlety, 'twill pass." He met Jareth's eyes pointedly, "Remember _your_ manners," and vanished.

The king nodded, a nearly unnoticeable curl to his lip, and returned to a formerly exquisite meal that now reminded him of ash.

Sarah stared in silence, then laid down her fork. "Who is Cosette?"

His manner darkened perceptively, "Believe me when I say you do not want to know."

"No, I do want to know. Especially if you think it's fair to steal my things on recon," she glared.

Jareth smirked, "Fair?"

"You know what I mean."

True, she would have to know eventually, sooner than that with the coronation approaching. Still, he preferred to shield her from the workings of the fae and their underground indefinitely. Primogeniture aside, nothing concerning Draco was the fairy tale picture she desired, or what he wanted to give. Knowledge would be fear. He spoke quietly with great distaste, "There is no way to put it lightly. Cosette is my brother's mistress, recently with child."

"Draco?"

"Yes," he scowled. "My elder brother."

Sarah fell silent and looked at the table. So many thoughts coursed through her head, she thought it might implode. He had a brother, who had a mistress, he owned her and . . . . with doe-like eyes she searched the mans face. "Is that what you intend," her voice wavered, "For me?"

"No," she exhaled with relief, "Though that is not to say I have any less power over you." Cosette, daughter of the high lord of Phaltham was to be pitied. Despite her fathers hopes Cosette could never be a queen, but his fair Sarah would be.

She trembled slightly, worries still boiling to the surface unsuppressed. "Would you .. . . .?"

He could have had any woman he wanted, in any way her wanted, for his queen, to grace his arm or share his bed. For some time, they failed to amuse and as such were only something to antagonize at revelries. It pained Draco in particular that his younger, less powerful brother spurned the hoard of women who followed him about, when he could have chosen a few and left the rest to find comfort at Navarre. He decided to speak the truth, so much as possible without frightening her more. "I haven't considered it for several of your years, no." _Two, if one felt a need for precision._

"But you have . . . .?" her voice quavered. He could do so again, how much did she really have to fear?

"I decline to answer such frivolous questions," he answered in a less than reassuring tone, swirling the wine in his glass.

Sarah jumped out of her chair and hurried for the door, but it did not yield. "Let me out!"

Calmly, Jareth lifted his fork, "I have not finished, nor have you been excused."

"What?"

He spoke each word with black clarity. "We will be working on your manners, now sit down until I am finished and find a new topic of conversation." She complied, sinking low in the chair, but didn't talk. Not long later, the king laid his fork aside for the final time. "Meet me in the study you conveniently discovered, I owe you a certain novella."

x x x x

Curling up with a book before a fire was never unpleasant, unless she sat before Jareth's fire in his personal study. That made her nervous, an unfair punishment for stumbling upon the room via unlocked doors, which was completely not her fault. He mostly ignored her, scowling at the parchment on his desk and occasionally making a few notes. Every time the quill changed it's scratching rhythm, Sarah fought the urge to turn round. She refused to look like a scared rabbit. When the quill went quiet again, Sarah sunk lower into the red leather chair.

Jareth noticed her slipping down: terrible posture. Work became difficult in her presence, and concentration hazier, but less tedious. He'd have it no other way now. However, at the moment, he kept thinking of the recently reclaimed yearbook that had lain open across this same desk earlier in the day. Words and Sarah's name engraved themselves on his consciousness. The burning question could not be left unsaid. "Did he ever touch you?" he whispered dangerously.

Sarah reappeared and gave in to the urge to turn around and faced him. "What?"

"Who more like. Brent?" he tested the name as if it tasted foul. "Did he ever touch you?"

Her eyes widened. "Not really."

"Not really?"

She fidgeted, "We kissed, if that's what you mean."

Bless her girlish naiveté, both refreshing and infuriating at the same time. "I see," he remarked coolly. Inside he smoldered. The lips of some unsophisticated adolescent schoolboy shared tactless kisses, blushed her flesh as a teenager would . . . . "What was he to you?"

"Brent is a friend," her voice cracked, surprising even Sarah herself. "We went to the movies and out to eat, he gave me roses and the sweetest Christmas presents, we were going to go to the prom . . . ." Sarah closed her eyes, savoring the memory, soliloquy continuing in silence. _He made me laugh, cheered me up when I felt sad, he always cared how I felt. He was always at my side, but he never rushed me into anything, we talked about anything and everything and everything . . . ._

"Was a friend, yes." _Roses? T'is already been done. I can give you treasures the world over. I'll give you anything you desire, take you anywhere, bring you anything, just say yes. Fear me, love me, do as I say . . . ._

Sarah fought down a lump in her throat. "Friends," she gulped against sudden, threatening tears.

"Sarah?"

There was no stopping them now, finally committed to the train of thought she could no longer break free. Tears drained down her cheeks. Jareth slid to her side with all the sudden grace of a panther. "Where is Hoggle? I want to see him," she managed.

"That will take some arranging," he grated. "Your _friends_ are currently indisposed." So she had not forgotten, a small matter only.

Bleary eyes widened, "What did you do to them?"

"Nothing irreversible."

Sarah glared at him with all the fire she could muster, then lashed out right-handed. He caught her wrist easily. "I would not do such things if I were you," he snarled.

"Let me go!" she cried out again.

Jareth complied, silently reaching out to wipe tears from her face. "Time for bed, I believe." He stepped away before she could move to strike him again. The girl made no attempt to follow, merely curled tighter around herself. "Come Sarah," he beckoned more gently.

As she still refused, he lifted her into his arms with a practiced sweep. For one prefect moment, her head rested under his. Then, realizing the changing in gravitation, she yelped, successfully punched him squarely in the jaw, and fled once more, slamming both corridor passages shut behind.

Jareth watched her run away again, rubbing his jaw. Allowing for her return in strength, it wouldn't leave a mark. He considered pursuit, but deemed agitating her further worthless this day. Asides, that might leave a mark. "Be dammed girl," Jareth remarked to himself. "I don't know whether to kiss some sense into her, or through her in the oubliette with Lyja."


	13. Of Mice and Men, Cats and Rats

Persephone

Chapter 13

Of Mice and Men; Cats and Rats

            Horrible darkness surrounded the lone figure huddled against the wall, yet she embraced it. Here was his darkness, the same darkness she found in her own black soul, if only he could see what she would freely give. She had never been white and pure, not even long ago. Too many stains heaped themselves upon her years. Instead she always dreamed of lingering in the darkness, enjoying its riches and contented herself to a more meager fate. But the lord of darkness itself sought to possess the light, he wanted challenge and significance she never held. She could exude light, and still be black within perhaps, only as a mockery. If equivocation was key, standing alone in the dark was the best place to think. An oubliette might be the place to put those one wished to forget, but it was an excellent place for the forgotten one to remember and plan.

~ ~ ~ ~ 

Bright light forced it's way into her eyes, as it did every morning. This time, her eyes felt glued shut; probably because she'd cried herself to sleep. A timid knock sounded at the door, reminding Sarah why she awoke. "Go away," she moaned. "I don't want to see anyone."

"I'm sorry deary," came the quiet reply. "His Majesty's orders it, and I can't go about disobeying the king."

Sarah sat up in bed, smiling awkwardly because she recognized that voice. "Gilda! Oh, Gilda I'm sorry, come in."

The little goblin woman carried a tray precautiously around the door. "I've brought your breakfast, and some instructions for the day." She looked back into the hall nervously, "I can't stay long, his Majesty forbids it."

The girl looked down, "But how long did he say you could stay? I'd like someone to talk too."

"Just until you finish your breakfast dear."

When she raised her face, Gilda noticed the spark of fire in her eyes that her king treasured. "I'm afraid his Majesty has no idea just how hungry I am," she teased. The goblin woman laughed, she wasn't sure whether or not the king would have seen such a thing coming, after all he always seemed several steps ahead of everyone. "Now his instructions, lets just get them out of the way."

"His Majesty is working on other matters this morning. He said he'd come for you at noon or so, and take you down to the stables once again. And to wear a decent dress, and he'll be taking you to dinner," Gilda recited looking down at the strings on her fingers. Then she smiled, "I heard he gave you a horse."

So Sarah gave a whirlwind account of getting Nightingale, periodically taking a few bites of pastry as to keep Gilda out of trouble. She left nothing out, even though it the recollections of his actions frightened her.

"So he was jealous of your boyfriend back home eh?" Sarah nodded, chewing pensively on a banana. "Did he have reason to be?"

"Gilda, why does it matter?" she sighed.

"I've told you often enough dear. You aren't going to go home, you'd best, . . . well, try to warm up to him. Otherwise you'll just be miserable forever."

"He didn't have any reason to be jealous. Brent is a realm away, but he'll always be with me in my memory." She pulled the yearbook open beside her. "Would you like to see?"

Gilda turned to look at the picture. He was a tallish looking boy, with sandy brown hair and clear blue eyes. The thing that drew the viewers eye was his sparkling friendly smile. Without it, he would be plain, but as it was any girl in high school would swoon over him. "Tell me about him."

"Brent's eighteen, a senior. He's going off to college in the fall, Dartmouth. Let's see, he's my first real boyfriend, Madeline got us together, she's a senior too, my best friend. She knew I wanted a boyfriend, and that Brent liked me." Sarah shook her head with adored remembrance. "She sent fake notes so we'd meet at the Masquerade last year. It was just the funniest thing, I'd hung out with him for ages but I never knew. He was just so wonderful; we've been together ever since."

"So he does have reason to be jealous."

"Not since he stole me away, and if I can't ever go back," the girl lost her dreamy demeanor for sarcasm. 

A thick silence hung in the air. "You'd best get dressed Sarah." Gilda quietly began putting dishes back on her tray. 

Sarah left her bed and walked into the closet, calling back over her shoulder smiling at her own craftiness: "I'm not finished yet!"

"Alright."

She twirled a silky sea green dress before herself. "Have you been doing anything interesting?"

"No, but there was a moment of interest some days ago."

Sarah tightened the sash around her waist and gave a few experimentary twirls before her mirror, girlishly delighting in the way her skirt spread as she moved. "What happened?"

"Lyja tried to insight decent towards the king." Gilda felt it wise to leave out the details.

"I like her already."

"No, trust me, you don't."

~ ~ ~ ~

      Unfortunately, she had to open the door despite knowing who'd be behind it. Taking a deep breath, Sarah leveled her eyes with his medallion, and cautiously raised them towards his mismatched eyes.

"That is a most fitting gown dear Sarah, I approve," he leaned against the frame of her door, blocking the path and standing over her at the same time. 

Sarah stepped forward slightly, although the movement brought her face very close to his. "It isn't for you to approve of, I happen to like it."

"I'm ecstatic that you like the things I've picked out for you," he smirked. Her mouth hung open slightly, Jareth fought his desire to lean down and place a gentle kiss on her welcoming lips. However, he hadn't even managed to touch her cheek without utter resistance and as such decided against the measure, and settled for a playful grin. She interpreted it as malicious, pursued her lips and brushed past him. The king caught her arm before she moved out of reach. "No more of that," he chided.

Sarah wrenched her hand away, unsuccessfully. His grip was gentle, unless she tried to pull, in which case it hurt. Eventually her struggles subsided, and gave way to a glare and a question: "What are you doing?"

"Ladies walk on the arm of their lords, they do not precede them in a huff as I have allowed you to do for far too long." Carefully he closed his grip, bringing her closer to his side.

"I'm not your lady," she pouted. 

"Sarah," he turned to face her, speaking in low tones and lifting her chin to his eyes with two gloved fingers. "Despite your constant denial, you are both here and my lady." 

She avoided his eyes, "Never."

He tipped her chin up again. "You may think what you like, but that changes nothing. Now . . . ." Jareth extended an arm; Sarah kept hers firmly by her sides. "Sarah," he prompted warningly. 

"I don't know how . . . . I'm no Lady," she said, back turning on his arrogant rules.

"You will be," he assured, rounding to her side. "Like this," he took her arm and slipped it through his. Slowly, they strolled to the stables. Considering her silence and expression, Jareth knew she wasn't pleased. However she was not overly confrontational, which he considered a victory.

Arriving at the stable, Jareth released her to disappear into the darkness, she'd only go as far as Nightingale's stall after all. A shrill scream made him reappear at her side. "What is it Sarah?" he demanded before the glitter fell.

She shrieked, pointing to the floor. One slightly rumpled looking mouse scuttled away as if it could escape the piercing sound. "Mouse!"

Jareth sighed, and crushed the unwelcome rodent underneath his boot. "Better?"

Sarah stared, "You're horrible!"

"And you are impossible to please," he stepped closer, wiping his boot on the already dirty floor, commenting personally: "I'll have someone see to the barn cat problem."

"It just surprised me, you didn't have to go and kill it," she closed her eyes against the sight of blood. "Cat problem?"

"The cats tend to ignore their duties when they become mothers. Usually I have someone dispose  . . . ." he trailed off noticing her horrified expression.

"You wouldn't!"

"What?" he asked innocently but consumed in shadow.

"Kill kittens."

"I cannot deny the charge."

Sarah stamped her foot. "I forbid it!"

Jareth felt rather than allowed a smirk spread across his sharp features. "You do, do you?"

She shrank back, once again nervous about his malicious grin. "Yes," her brown eyes grazed the floor before meeting his again. "What's it going to cost me?"

His pointed canines showed even more, "Not much my dear Sarah, be still." One step closer, she stared up trying to discern an answer from his eyes. 

Two steps, and no space between two figures in the stable, both shadowed, but one with a single beam of rare and precious light on her face. Time to give in to temptation, for one blissful moment. She trembled, "What are you doing? I didn't agree to . . . I . . . ."

"Just a little thing." One gloved finger motioned for her silence. "Close your eyes, be silent, be still." He reached down, tipping her face up to him with one arm and wrapping the other around so she could not escape. It was a chaste kiss for the Goblin King, just a moment to taste her lips and set them free again, yet it meant so much. "There," he whispered.

True, the kiss in itself was nothing to be frightened of; still she wanted to cry, hit him, or somehow take revenge for his betrayal all at the same time, but when she moved to knee him in the groin he pushed her off balance. For a moment she staggered within the limits of his arms, then was freed. There were no words.

"That satisfies me," a lie, but a beginning. "Now, what did you want Sarah?"

Blinking, she made demands to take back her dignity. "The kittens go unharmed. And I get to keep one for a pet, no all of them. As many as I want."

"Very well," he smiled.

"In the Castle," she added.

He raised an eyebrow in both amusement and distaste. "You want little creatures running and skittering about my castle?"

"There already are plenty of so called little creatures running and skittering," Sarah retorted, sticking up her chin again. "Few of which I like and none that I can take care. . "

"One. You may have one." He had the feeling this was going to be another headache, but if it made her happy he could stand a few additional skitterings in the palace. Besides she had a point, the goblin population really didn't suit her.

"All of them."

"One. One or none at all Sarah."

"After what you did to me? You . . ." she fumed, this time quivering with rage.

He placed both gloved hands upon her shoulders, speaking in a low voice laden with intrigue. "It was only a kiss Sarah, and a little one at that. Don't play the victim, I can make you . . . ."

"I am aren't I? Just look at what you've done!"

Jareth pressed her into the wall, and watched her aggression melt away to fear as he drew nearer. Perchance she was right, but only because she had lost. To the victor went the spoils. She was the spoils, and he the victor; it had only taken longer than usual to win. Except . . . . "Two."

A furry face nestled between the girl's chin and shoulder. This one was almost white, perhaps parchment colored, except for dirty splotches on face, legs and tail. Another kitten curled up in her lap, he was as brown as a goblin's hide. The girl herself lay in the straw, one arm draped over the back of her midnight horse who rested beside her. Morpheus took them all about an hour before he arrived, leaving nothing but peaceful dreams in the wake of sleep.

The king wasted a moment on breath and contemplation looking down on them. Despite her useless efforts not to share in his life, her innocent love of sweet things forced him to share in them, if only because he wanted to share in her. Kittens in the Goblin King's palace, it was laughable. Just now, asking Alexander what felines of such a young age should be eating, felines he would normally have ordered drowned; it was a small change, at least. No girl could bring any warmth to the frigidly calculating heart of the Goblin King, except her. Maybe, given all too precious time.

Leaning in close, he whispered: "Wake up Sarah. Sarah, this is dangerous. You should not be laying beside a horse, she could hurt you without intent. Sarah!" He shook her shoulder gently, causing the parchment kitten to scamper away. "Fine," he sneered at it, and picked her up again still sleeping. The kitten was another matter; one he had no desire to touch. But if she wanted the fragile thing, he would comply. With both kittens stretched across the stomach of a sleeping girl, all proceeded back up to the castle.

"Jareth!" Alexander streaked down the path, dropping into step with his king. "Isn't that lovely," he remarked with a smile too wide for absolute sincerity. "Terribly romantic, my lord." 

"Surely you jest, Xander." Jareth lifted one of Sarah's kittens, Dirty-Parchment, as it nearly scaled his arm. "Not with these things about."

"Oh you cannot be certain. What kind of reason is that anyway? Surely you can think up some others," his blue eyes sparkled.

"Like that she's been sleeping alongside her horse in the dirt and that she likely ruined this dress, or that you Xander nearly always jest?"

"Your choice my king, but I bring news of a matter a bit more grave in nature. You may want to have the young Lady change into something more formal. It is after all a good excuse."

Jareth looked down at her sleeping from, intrigued to say the least. "What excuse is that?"

"An emissary from your brother is here and will likely join us for dinner."

The kitten mewed loudly in apparent distaste; one feeling that the man carrying it shared. Dirty-Parchment made another attempt to claw her way up his sleeve. "Lovely," Jareth commented to both. 

"Ah, but one of whom you may actually approve." Alexander delighted in tormenting his king with a secret; one had to admit he could be amusing to antagonize. 

"Who is here Xander?" the king plucked the young feline from his clothing. "Stop playing games, I'm not in the mood."

"The dove and the dragon's apprentice," Alexander defied.

This one required little thought. A familiar face sprung to mind, carrying a slight smile. "Adele?" Alexander nodded. "And perhaps her dear husband Corinth," this time he sneered.

"Bravo my liege!"

Jareth smile lended itself to melancholy. "She really is no dove you understand." Adele was always a welcome guest; his fae cousin met all circles in many courts with grace and politic, but none could deny her unyielding charisma. Still, she belonged to Navarre and his brother through her husband and constant association. The dragon's apprentice indeed, but Corinth could only claim the title because _dragon_ itself was taken; such were the men surrounding his brother. 

"But you still comprehend the work of this jester," Alexander preened with mock pride, placing a triumphant hand over his heart in a sweeping bow. "Which was of course the point of my little equivocation."

The king rolled his eyes, "How long do I have to prepare a reception befitting the courtiers of Navarre?"

"Not long at all I'd say, perhaps negative two minutes," he winked. Only . . . .

"Xander!"

"Got to . . . ." he made a move to disappear.

Jareth snapped his fingers, "Not this time. Take her, see that she is properly prepared for dinner with our other guests and join us when the clock strikes eight. That should allow ample time on such short notice." He gave the sleeping girl to Alexander as if she weighed no more than a feather pillow, casting a very mild charm to keep her dreaming through the transition. Her kittens almost fell, "Be sure the little demons are safe in her chambers, I fear she might go after my head otherwise."

"As you wish Majesty, any other particulars?" 

"Make sure she walks on your arm, I won't have any regressions." Alexander nodded. "There is a dark blue gown that may suit, I'm sure one of you will find it."

He nodded again with less humor, "You have two hours alone with Dove and Dragon Jareth, please keep the underground in one piece. I'll see to the lady."

"I'm far too sure you will." He looked down at himself, mentally preparing to face one visage that brought joy, the other anger- a face acquiescent  to the man he hated most.

"My Lord are you quite alright?"

Jareth lifted a few creamy strands from his jacket with disgust, "Cat hair." 

~ ~ ~ ~

     "If you'll pardon me for a moment Lady Adele," bitterness crept around his politic façade in turning, "and Lord Corinth." The afternoon had proceeded under false pretenses of cordiality, despite which Jareth felt one dragon circling only as a scout for the other. The apprentice indeed. Adele nodded, gold spun tendrils grazing the peaks of her graceful shoulders in a mild bow while he exited; she was as always respectful, lovely and completely diplomatic. Corinth merely held the Goblin King's gaze without movement, and only because he had considerable practice with another relation.

Jareth stepped quietly into the hall, quickly closing the door behind him with a gesture. "Well Alexander?" he queried with one eyebrow raised.

"I believe you will be quite pleased my lord," Alexander stepped to left, bringing the young woman into sight at a proper place on his arm.

The Goblin King glanced over her, taking care not to allow his eyes to linger. Sarah herself did not look overly pleased, though she looked pleasing to his mismatched eyes. She and Alexander had found the cobalt gown, cut off the shoulder with loose sleeves but still high in the neck, fitted in the bodice with a full skirt. The only ornamentation aside from the shine of lavish silk appeared in a smattering of sparkling diamonds like stars in the midnight sky. An exquisite but simple drop necklace hung at her throat, matching a few crystal strands tangled within messy curls atop her head. "Simply Lovely Sarah," he breathed.

She wrapped both bare arms around herself, obviously unaccustomed to such an outfit, "Thanks." 

"Walk with me a moment Sarah," he invited with a hand. "Xander, see to your dove and dragon's apprentice if you please." Alexander smiled, watching the girl reluctantly leave his own arm for the king's and nodding acceptance to his own task. As the smile widened, he left to rejoin the courtiers of Navarre. 

Sarah looked up at Jareth, trying to conceal her nerves at the strange happenings. "Who are they?" she asked.

"That is what we need discuss, yes."

"So? Xander simply said that the dove and dragon's apprentice would be joining us for dinner. Then he said that he couldn't tell me anything, and I'd have to ask you," her eyes narrowed.

Jareth nodded in acknowledgment, "As he is constantly instructed."

"Why are you so intent on keeping me in the dark about everything? It's so," she stamped a foot, "annoying."

"Believe me Sarah, it only gets darker," Jareth murmured blackly. "But I did require a chance to speak with you before dinner." Leaving her side, he paced about her. "This is one of those occasions upon which I expect absolute obedience."

Her lip twisted, "What do you mean?"

"Tonight we dine with the emissaries of Navarre, high court of the underground and home to the brother of which we spoke briefly."

"Draco?" she shivered as Jareth brushed her shoulder.

He stood behind her, one black gloved hand resting on her shoulder. "Adele is no threat to you, but Corinth is a threat to all. For your part Sarah, I expect gentility. Consider that tonight is the entrance exam which determines just how much time I put into your training."

"Training?" she swallowed.

"Use your imagination Sarah," he licked his lips all to close to her ear. "And I have an added incentive, you are expecting visitors tomorrow, if you behave tonight."

Her eyes went wide. "They're coming?" She spun around to look at him, her face truly aglow for the first time since her arrival. "You found them? You found them!"

"I believe thanks are in order. Now, tonight . . . ." he placed a hand on her shoulder to calm the excited girl, and she quieted nervously.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Act like the queen you will be." She made a face of protest. "You will obey me and not speak without being spoken to, unless you need to be excused and only at my discretion."

"But . . . ."

Jareth held a finger to her lips, effectively silencing Sarah when her breath caught in her throat. "You will sit by my side, and stay on my arm . . . ."

Several breaths escaped her in quick succession, Jareth curled one arm round her shoulders. "Come, you'll be fine. Just follow my lead Sarah." She set her face in scowl, but stayed by his side. "Sulking counts against you my dear."

~ ~ ~

      "I'll inquire again, since you averted the question before. Who is this charming young lady?" Lady Adele smiled at the girl of whom she spoke and touched her wrist gently; Sarah returned a shy smile, though she felt frustrated that while the Lady made eye contact, she spoke to Jareth.

Instead Corinth chimed in, and he spoke only to Jareth: "Certainly she is a lovely intrigue of the Goblin King. He has _finally_ taken . . . ."

"I am not my brother Lord Corinth," the King replied, full of deadly dignity.

"Nevertheless, she is your Lady," he smirked. Corinth sought his Lady's eyes, instead hers found Sarah's once more, gently reassuring. Still, internally she was beginning to fume. She found herself debating fleeing this meeting of vultures, or dragons as others called them, but thought that in such company Jareth might object to her departure. Instead, her eyes found Alexander's across the table, where his expression carried only kindly comfort.

Jareth nodded to Sarah, his smile a little less dangerous than she normally found it. "Yes, she is my lady, as well as her own."

Alexander beamed, his eyes dancing. Sarah raised her eyes startled, and ended up looking into Jareth's own. He slipped his hand across to her beneath the table, cool leather squeezing white fingers momentarily and releasing. Only Adele appeared to notice his action, her bemused expression flitting between the pair. "I withdraw my question."

"Withdraw?" Corinth's brow showed his displeasure.

"It has been answered," she caught Sarah's eye once more as the girl began sipping a less offensive variety of wine. "We can turn to more serious matters. Corinth?"

"Ah, yes. The date for the coronation ball has been set."

"Coronation?" Sarah asked, before remembering her promise of silence. Lord Corinth raised one eyebrow, sneering cruelly at her and poking fun. She drew back into her chair, trying to put as much space as possible between them across the table.

Jareth took the outburst in stride, though he did take and keep her hand under the table. "My brother," he whispered. "So the underground's higher prince will celebrate becoming king and he'd like the lower to attend? I see no reason to humor him."

"Except that he will rule all as your father before, including this Labyrinth."

The Goblin bristled at the mention of his land under another's rule, taking a firmer grip on Sarah's hand to warn against her reaction and still his own. "The Labyrinth is sovereign, as declared by my father when he conveniently sent me here."

"But it is the boom of primogeniture(1) that all belongs to the elder son," Corinth taunted. "Despite that little loophole. Nevertheless, you owe fealty to your liege lord."

"Draco," he spat the name, "is merely my brother, not yet my lord."

"I beg you stay your tone, Goblin King and old friend." The Lady Adele leveled her gaze with Jareth, silencing Corinth as she spoke. "All that we are here for is to extend an invitation, without need for such childish bickering."

"The issue must be resolved eventually," Corinth snarled staring down Jareth.

The Goblin King fought to keep distain from ruining his diplomatic mask. "Then we may commence tonight, but first Lord Alexander?"

The formally addressed Xander rose from his chair, though his manner still seemed more jovial than courtly. "Yes, my _king_?

"Take Sarah to her room and see that she goes to bed early tonight before you return to this," he glanced at the visitors, "debate."

1. All inheritance belongs to the elder son with absolutely no division of property.


	14. Reunion and Meeting

It has been along time, albeight. I've received some lovely reviews all urging a chapter, as such all give you this one with a cliff hanger. Please pay close attention to the allusions in this chapter, we are stepping into a bigger picture, and there are some hopefully subtly cast pieces of information that will come into play. If you feel like you didn't come out of this with somewhere around three new pieces of information, let me know in a review so I can clarify next chapter. Read Jareth and Adele's conversation with a fine toothed comb, I'm not sure if I was too ambiguous. Also, thanks to Rin Robs for expressing enough interest in Adele that I brought her back prematurely. Happy Easter to all. Enjoy with standard disclaimer and give me all the polite constructive criticism you can, I'm feeling rather inadequate when it comes to writing Hoggle, Didymus and Ludo.

Persephone 14

Reunion and Meeting

            The dwarf hobbled over to his king, trying in vain to hide his cowardice before the ruler. "Ssarah iss here?" he questioned shakily. 

            Jareth rubbed his temples, finding morning came too early after bickering with _the lord _Corinth all night. "I brought her back, yes."

            Hoggle scratched at a grayish scar, cut into his hide over the left eye. "She asked for us?" He glanced around the dank cell, and over at two hairy figures of radically different stature. He felt as though a monster of greater power still might emerge from the shadows with each gesture the king made.

            "Yes, yes," Jareth conceded. "And I will reinstate you three into my service so that you may see her at appropriate times, determined by myself."

            "Anything to be out of here your Majesty."

            "For my Lady, we are at your service," the little fox-like knight approached from the windows that looked over the sides of the North Tower. Didymus too looked worse for wear: where it was not matted, patches of fur hung at different lengths around his dingy doublet where they had been shorn, and his eye patch was missing. It would require replacement.

            Even Ludo seemed diminished, but he still smiled beastly and agreed: "For Sawah." 

            "Eh, what will we be doing?" Hoggle asked, looking at his friends.

            "You dwarf will return to your duties as gardener and work as a castle servant. I'm sending Didymus to the stables and Ludo to the guards. They, at least will appreciate having another beast about." Jareth stood, pacing around them and scuffing his boots on the dirty straw-strewn floor. "Do not interpret your new arrangements as anything more than a forced probation. If not for Sarah's request, I'd prefer to leave you all rotting in the tower," he glared down at them. Why did the sweet girl care for such dregs, such scabs, low even on the ladder of the labyrinth? He had hoped when she did not ask that Sarah had forgotten the subjects who humiliated him. Alas, she simply detested him, but no matter. "If you displease her, you'll call the tower home again," he continued. "Which brings me to my regulations."

            "What code of chivalry do we not already uphold?" Didymus looked dismayed at the very suggestion.

            "Mine. The conditions of your little sabbatical depend upon it."

            "Well?" Hoggle's voice shook as the king neared them.

            "I expect absolute fealty and obedience, as I'm sure you are aware from your last endeavor in my service." The three faces hung down, both burning with shame and craving for vengeance. "More importantly, none will mention any _negative attributes_ of the past two years when you meet Sarah. No word of the tower, nothing."

            Unperturbed by the warning, Ludo stepped forward: "See Sawah now?"

            "It is yet too early for her," he looked down on them again, allowing himself to actually see them for the first time. He had no sympathy, but their disheveled appearance would bring questions from a certain girl who sometimes was too astute. Jareth continued: ". . . and I want you all presentable before she sees you. No mention, clear?" The prisoners nodded. "Go." Together, they shuffled through the door for the first time since the one hope they'd held presumably left their lives forever. Jareth watched in moody silence. It wasn't the only prison liberation to be made that day, though the other would not be made in person. Lyja should have been sufficiently humbled by now, but he held no desire to see her.

* * * *

"Hoggle!" The girl's joyful yell pierced four hearts, but one as if with a knife. Sarah ran across the courtyard to engulf the dwarf and fox in her arms, a moment before Ludo wrapped his round all three. "I've missed you all so much."

            The Goblin King's voice broke through the ramble of whispered greetings. "Sarah, . . .  Sarah,  . . . Sarah!" When she looked up, he commanded. "Meet me in the throne room at three this afternoon. Be on time and be ready for me." He had no polite choice but to take her shiver and nod as an affirmative answer as the four sprinted away. Annoyed with her taste in companions as he was, her smile was reason enough to let her run.

            "It feels so nice to be out in the sun again," Didymus sighed. "The air is so sweet, fragrant . . . ." he leaned against the back of the oak they had settled under.

            "Hows you been Sarah?" Hoggle covered. "We haven't seen you."

            "I'm sorry I never called, but I knew you'd be there if I needed you," the girl took the dwarf's leathery hand in her delicate white one. "That was all I needed."

            "We always will be fair maiden," Didymus replied. Hoggle swallowed, wondering how she would have reacted had she called and found them in the north tower. How he would have felt if he had been unable to aid her.

            "I'm sorry, I didn't want to talk about unpleasant things; we're together again." The three nodded, holding internally the shrapnel that threatened to spill from non-physical wounds. Sarah smiled slightly, "Would you like to see my kittens?"

            "Kittens?" Didymus' ears perked. 

            "I have two in my room, but there are more in the stables. Want to go see them?" 

            "Alright Sarah," Hoggle stood and offered a hand to Sarah who took it and pulled herself to stand with a little giggle.

            "Thanks," she pointed down the path out of the garden. "That way."

            "To the stables!" Didymus cheered, charging away with his newly fitted eye patch bobbing. "Come brother Ludo!" 

Sarah and Hoggle walked nonchalantly while the other two loped ahead. Sarah pulled gently on her friend's hand. He turned to blink up at her in the morning sunlight. "Is everything really alright Hoggle?" He nodded, but she pressed further. "I know that's what you say, but it seems . . . ." She squinted at his wrinkled visage, "What's . . ."

"No Sarah, it's nothing. Everything is as we says." His face left her vision to look down the lane after the little knight and large beast.

"Hoggle," she whispered reaching to his cheek and bringing him about to face her, fingers finding the groove above his eye. "Hoggle!" Sarah repeated. She traced the scar and he winced away. "What happened Hoggle? Please, trust me," she begged. 

The dwarf startled at her touch, but then his tone became melancholy. "I trusts you Sarah, but it's just an old scar."

"It's a new scar, don't lie to me Hoggle." He tore his gaze away again. "It's new since I left," she whispered. When he did not respond, she pressed on with a tremor to her voice. "What did he do?"

"Arest thy coming?" Didymus jogged back to them.

"Yes," Hoggle answered quickly, following Didymus bringing Sarah's hand with him in such a way that she followed to maintain balance. The interruption put an effective stopper in the conversation.

"Still spying into crystal balls Goblin King? And I thought you gave that up when we were but young. Perhaps I did not teach you your lesson well enough long ago . . ."

Jareth turned towards the soft voice, vanishing the crystal from which he had been watching Sarah. "Adele. I fail to see how you can speak of old times with such formality." 

"Forgive me," she smiled. "I did not think last night proceeded well and treaded lightly." Adele plucked a flower from the vine covered wall and pressed its white petals to her nose.

"I would have preferred to merely enjoy your company without the diplomacy." At Navarre in his youth he had known Adele well, now with half of the underground between him and the high court she was more recollected than known. "Are you sure you must return this morning?"

She watched her husband bicker with a spotted goblin over their carriage. Alexander stood calming their gray horses, presumably whispering sonnets into dappled ears. "We are expected at Navarre, I apologize."

Jareth followed her eyes down to the other scene transpiring. "He would love a game of chess."

"I'll return to play it, sometime."

"It does not have mean anything."

The lady smiled as she lifted her skirts to stroll away. "I do not detest my husband as you have always presumed. Our relations are rather to the contrary."

"I'll never comprehend." His lip twisted slightly. "Why Corinth of all the eligible men in the underground?"

Adele strolled along the wall, trailing her fingers behind in the vines while carefully avoiding the flowers. "Simply realize that it was years ago, that I was young, and that you may never understand but must except my decision nonetheless. Though perhaps . . . ." She turned back to him, her eternal coy expression tugging at sculpted lips. 

"Perhaps what?" he played, enjoying her refreshing twist on the old game of polite interrogation to the point that he allowed it to continue despite their equal standing.

"I have a proposition for you." Jareth nodded slowly. "I'll return and play those games of chess, if . . ." her eyebrow quirked as she eyed Sarah and her companions from afar. "You will permit me to offer some advice on your young lady."

The Goblin King studied her a moment, then glanced at Alexander. True, she was of Navarre, but the sense behind the words seemed genuine. Asides, he owed the elder fae many favors. "I accept."

Adele's brow wrinkled ever so slightly, "What is she wearing?"

He sighed, "They are known as _Blue Jeans_; I detest them. She will have to be reprimanded."

The lady's laughter tinkled like bells. "Sometimes I find your irrational stubbornness charming. This is not one of them." He merely rolled his eyes, taking her jest as intended because it came from her. "If you try to break her, you will be disappointed in the final product," Adele went on carefully, speaking softly to be sure he listened. "And she is yet young."

"Alexander is constantly telling me that," he added pointedly.

She took his hand in hers and reached up to place both over his heart. "Jareth, this is not about my relations, but yours." He looked down at their clasped hands. "You are cold here," Adele continued. "Let her come to you in her own time, if she comes at all. I know that you want her, but to tame is far different than to break. Do not think of reprimand and obedience, they do not suit your purpose for her."

He brought her pale hand to his lips in fair-well, still quizzical. "What purpose is that Adele?"

The lady turned at the sound of her name, Corinth demanding hasty departure. Jareth watched gilded curls bounce against her retreating back. Then she turned over her shoulder: "I can see it your eyes Goblin King. You want her to be queen." Without another word, she crossed the courtyard and accepted Alexander's assistance with the carriage step. Fully understanding her irony and implication, Jareth found himself rarely forced to search, and wonder if she understood as well. Even with the complexity that was Adele, and the political experience she cultivated, he truly doubted it.

"Gilda! Gilda!" The little goblin man ran past the counter stacked with dirty dishes. 

She looked up at him, surprised to hear her name in such an excited manner. She tried not to betray the joy in her voice or words. "These are yours to do," she gestured at the heaped cutlery, realizing at the same time that the sentiment was not as she intended.

Shel cast one disgusted look at the washing basin before ignoring it completely. "Lyja's being released today! Isn't that wonderful?"

Gilda regarded her own face in the sudsy water as she stopped scrubbing the cauldron-like pot. "Himself's letting her out of the oubliette?" 

"Yes, but that's not the point," he huffed. She shook her head negatively in response. Shel lifted a dingy fork and attempted to twirl it between his stubby digits. "He should have let her out long ago."

"I think his Majesty was perfectly justified," she took up the rag with great vigor, with the unfortunate effect of seeing her face in the copper pot as well. Continuing to observe without taking part, Shel seemed more incline to disagree; a new trend in their relationship. Gilda sighed, "Aren't you going to help me?"

Another glance at the dishes: "I've got to go and see her," he whined.

"This is your work too Shel," she warned nervously. "I don't want to sit here alone all night." 

"I'll do it later," he began walking away.

"So long as it gets done," Gilda said quietly watching him retreat. Was there anything more to say, some reason to call him back? No, not one of which she could think. Something in their rapport seemed shattered, its fragments collecting dust in a forgotten place. She'd serve with him at dinner that evening; they could do some dusting afterwards. After all, both were servants. Sharing the last meal after a days work hadn't changed.

* * * *

With Didymus playing contentedly with the stable's kittens and Ludo staring on in rapture, mid-afternoon seemed to Sarah the best opportunity to question Hoggle on serious matters. They'd sat together in the hay by Nightengale's stall, dancing around the subject by speaking of trivial matters. He listened intently to the events of her life over the last two years, but politely refused to discuss his own- usually by asking another question. Talking felt good, it felt free, it felt safe; Sarah found herself explaining more than she intended: Telling him everything about Brent; Lamenting smashed hopes and dreams; explaining how she used to want to live her life. Hoggle made a sympathetic listener, so she continued. Letting on how much Jareth really did frighten her instead of trying to be brave, and meeting only an uneasy silence in return.

He played with a parched clover stem, all of its petals having fallen. "He hurt you didn't he?" she whispered.

Hoggle regarded the dirt floor with great interest. "No," he murmured, but without conviction.

"I have to know," she pressed, composure departing with the speed of an expert's arrow. "The scars? Tell me what he did."

The dwarf shook his head, and Sarah could see the scar in question once more. "He didn't do anything," he replied truthfully. She breathed a sigh of relief, taking in the sweet alflapha perfume of stable air. "He had it done," it turned putrid in her throat. "Sometimes he watched."

Exhale. "Oh Hoggle." Exhale; she felt like she was choking.

"Has he shown you the North Tower? Has yous been there?" 

"No," she felt the tears welling and fought them down; they were not for here or now. "Why?"

"Even Navarre sends them here. His Majesty runs the worst prison in the whole underground. It's the only use most of the nobility have for the Labyrinth."

"And the scar?" she choked out.

He looked all around, peering into shadowy corners and up at the ceiling. Then his eyes returned to her face, imploring her to forget that they'd wandered. "No, you don't want to hears it, nor cans I tell you."

The sun shone red, a corner visible below the stable door. The Goblin King had told her to be ready by three, by limited knowledge of astrology or the Labyrinth's red skies Sarah decided it must be approximately the right time. She missed her fairy-styled watch. "It's alright," she said, still internally battling frenzied emotion. Silence took them once more.

"This little demon hasth bitten me!" barked Didymus from the end of the corridor. "We must teach it some respect." He plunked it ungracefully down in the straw, wagging a furry red finger unmercilessly in the kitten's direction. But it mewed, and he smiled; reaching down to take the young feline back into his arms. 

"You 'alright?" Hoggle called, stiffly even for him. Luckily, Didymus never took much notice of vocal tone, and was engrossed in the kitten's antics once again anyway.

Sarah glanced out the door at the sky; its habitual red tones beginning to purple as evening arrived. "It's getting late," she commented lamely, dusting off her jeans. "I probably should change too, though I think I won't." 

Hoggle could think of nothing to do but agree. He watched the sun lend a crimson touch to her dark hair and a glow to her cheeks. "Yes," he said finally. "We can find our way back."

"Today has been wonderful," she sighed, studying the scar over his eye with a fresh surge of anger. It took energy to fight it down, though she clenched the emotion anyway. She stood; hands sliding into the denim pockets. "I really do have to go." Sarah turned to walk from the stable, but something about the goodbye felt unfulfilled. On a whim, the girl hugged her dwarf friend heedless of the straw, circumstance and who could see them. "Thank you," she whispered.

He may have said, "Ge'off me," neither was quite certain. Still, his voice held affection which contradicted the words.

"I'll see you tomorrow, whether he likes it our not."

Hoggle became serious, his eyes boring into hers at close range. "Protect yourself Sarah. Don't cross his Majesty, not for me."

She shook her head, throwing her locks across her pale visage. "You're worth a million times more than him; I'll do what I please." He looked at her crossly, arms folding. Sarah noticed the scar again, rather than his ears turning pink. She relented, externally for his benefit. "I'll try."

He grunted, "Take care of yourself Sarah." She nodded, smiling an all too rare smile and went to say goodbye to the others. 

When she saw him, all the aggressions she'd mulled over came boiling to the surface. But she suppressed that often enough before to survive an evening. Besides, terror always decided to interfere. Something about adrenaline is like a nightlight in the dark, suddenly bestowing otherwise imperceptible courage. He sat sprawled over the throne, a leg cast over its arm in a posture for which he would ridicule her. Had her vision not been tinted crimson or confined to a tunnel, she might have noticed the fatigue behind his chiseled mask, that even his most informal flowing shirt hung open lower than usual or that he had run his fingers through his hair many times in frustration before her arrival. As it were, Sarah observed the other half of his mood, the part that sought some degree of comfort in conflict. His habitual riding crop tapped impatiently against tan breeches, in time with the beat of his coal black boats. She saw how tightly leather clad fingers encased the handle. She saw the permanently cool mismatched eyes narrow at her jeans. And when the first sardonic smirk tugged at his lips as she walked into the throne room, everything boiling under the surface suddenly erupted like a geyser. 


	15. Satins and Brocades

Persephone 15

Satins and Brocades

"You're late Sarah," he chided, eyes lazily flicking over her. "Nor did you dress as I asked." Defiance he certainly prized, though she had disappointed him in that thus far. All at once, he sought her submission and to see more of the spirit he observed in their prior conflict. From her stance, he surmised that this afternoon he would see more to suit the second wish. Admittedly hypocritical, Jareth felt his sardonic grin deepen at the possibility.

"Maybe I don't care," her arms crossed.

"Sarah, . . ." he warned, enjoying the taste of her name.

"Monster," she whispered through tightly pressed lips. "You are the most . . ."

"Charming," the king struck his riding crop against the throne's curving bone with each well-placed word, ". . . handsome, _generous _. . ."

"Egotistical, heartless, inhuman, conniving . . . ."

"Stop." Now she fumed, anger flowing freely from every pore and electrifying even her normally elegant hair. Jareth had to admit he enjoyed her this way, at the very least it was an improvement over her first few fortnights of silent depression. Nevertheless, she irritated his headache.

"Did you say generous? Again, after what you did . . . to them?"

His dark chuckle should have filled her with dread, but cursed adrenaline lended itself to fueling her aggression. "Sarah, what _horribly evil_ thing did I do this time that is so different from every other?" he teased.

He teased. The girl bit her lip in a gasp and flew across the room, petite fingers hooking into talons like a raptor seeking prey. Her vermin was the king's pale throat, his wild hair, his cruel eyes . . . anything she could tear. There was no more objective than sending him into black oblivion. And then sudden utter stillness; Sarah found herself frozen but a hand's width from the root of all evil, her captor, the source of all nightmare . . . balanced precariously but unable to fall against his magical bound.

Jareth himself sat stoic in all his cold majesty, watching her eyes as they recognized the predicament of her body. "Well, well," he remarked with noir nonchalance. "My little kitten has claws."

She tried to break free with violent jerks and twists, but succeeded only in a flushed face to complement her crimson mood. "Most of them do, no matter how hidden."

To her surprise, the king lifted her hand as if to kiss it, but instead he studied her fingers. The action gave Sarah no more control over the rest of her body and her glare tore into his bemused mismatched stare. "Pity. I'll need to have them filed down a bit." Her bitten fingernails honestly would have to be attended to before the ball, he added the note to a mental queue. So much to do, with so little time.

Sarah torqued her wrist to scratch him, leaving fine red marks on his porcelain cheek. Sadly, they faded as he tightened his hold on her wrist, leaving no evidence in which she could pride herself. "Unacceptable Sarah," her hand whitened in his.

"I hate you."

Jareth rolled his eyes in mockery. "You are such a child." She opened her mouth in protest before he silenced her. "Do tell me, has your reasoning for that little quip changed pet?" The scarlet in her cheeks brought life to normally angelic features; her eyes stormed a turbulent of green and gray. Anger gave her a different kind of beauty, he noted. She could be as delicate and creamy as Selene and Artemis, or as wild as one of Dinoysuses Myneads. He smiled. "Do you think you can behave if I let you go?" She nodded, but he was not unprepared when the girl lunged to strike him. Almost effortlessly, Jareth twisted her wrist and she tumbled into his lap. A strong arm snaked around her waist, more effective than magic as a physical cage. He pressed his lips to her ear, "Care to try again?"

Goosebumps spread over her bare arms from both the sensation of his lips on her flesh and the tickle of his hair on her forehead. Proximity never failed to unnerve the girl. "You hurt them," she rasped. "You hurt my only friends."

His expression gave away nothing, yet inside the master of deception was never one to be trusted. "And how do you know that Sarah?"

She raged at his apparent dismissal, lashing out again with her feet. Sneakers tasted the breeches of his thigh but without avail. Jareth slid his leg over her ankle, effectively subduing it too. He forced her head beneath his chin. A ragged breath reached his ears; she felt as though she sucked in broken glass, shards from a magic crystal, "All I had to do was look; the damage is obvious after all. A scar as wide as my finger, cut over his eye!?! You expected me to miss that?"

Thin lips stayed at her ear to test boundaries he hadn't considered pushing before, but now she annoyed him. "I may be Rex and a compassionate one at that . . ." She scoffed. "But accidents are not beyond occurrence. Perhaps he got into a fight."

"Hoggle, in a fight?" He smiled outside of her vision; the response was perfectly predictable. "He'd never," Sarah crushed her free heel into his boot.

That foot joined its match beneath his leg. "Sometimes people change." In punishment he slipped his smirk behind her ear to roses and lavender. "Sometimes they retain all of their childlike qualities, hmm?"

His lips fell onto the pulse at her jaw, neither kissing nor caressing they echoed with the mad hammer of her heart. "I . . .I . . ." the beat quickened. "You put them in the tower- You had them tortured!"

Pointed white teeth raked down her neck and over her shoulder, blushing the porcelain skin beneath them. "Good girl."

Sarah squirmed to look at him in utter confusion. "You're praising . . .?"

"I gave them orders not to speak of the last two years' exploits. Who precisely disobeyed me?" he pried.

The blood drained from her cheeks as the girl realized exactly what she had done. Caught in a web spun by the arachnid Goblin King was no place to be at all. "I won't," she cracked.

"Perfect," his mouth traced its path back up her neck to whisper into her ear. "Then I'll execute them all."

Surprisingly, the girl did not fly into a rage or burst into tears. She merely began to tremble as a leaf does when buffeted by wind just before it falls. Jareth held her silently, wondering what she thought about without venturing into her mind. "Sarah . . ."

"You wouldn't, you can't," she struggled. "I'll find some way to stop you."

"As amusing as that would be my dear, you _still _have no sway in my decisions." He paused, studying her profile and caressing her cheek with one gloved finger. "I thought you would have learned that by now _pet_."

"Please, promise me you won't hurt them any more," she sounded hollow.

"They are more than guilty of treason, twice over."

Sarah pulled away, straining at his confinement of her body. "I'll kill you instead," she threatened like her brother would have, the king noticed.

"Impossible," he grinned into her hair.

"I'll find someway to make you pay," she slapped at his constricting limbs though they merely tightened around her. Sarah did not yield.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. It would be wiser to put me in a better humor, than to make unwarranted threats Sarah." A light kiss tickled the back of her neck. "Asides, we have business to attend this afternoon. If you behave and cooperate with the proceedings, I'll let that little slip of the tongue pass."

"But, Hoggle- my friends?" she stammered.

Jareth sighed, though only for theatrical effect. She would never forgive him such an action; he never considered it a real possibility despite the certain charm of the idea. It was, after all, one way to break her of the dregs. "I'll consider it, based on your behavior." Gently, he brought her back against his chest, accepting her acquiescence as an affirmative answer.

Two timid knocks echoed through the expansive room. "Ah, Evelyn," the Goblin King announced. "You may enter." Sarah looked up at him in confusion, trying to abide by her promise to improve his mood and abate her own worries. He smiled down at her quiet manner, and at the fire still smoldering beneath her calming façade. "I had thought to get your opinion in commissioning a gown, perhaps now I will have your help without your input." He chuckled at her reluctant nod, "It seems a fitting punishment for your lovely outburst." Sarah fought a sneer from her face.

A young woman walked into the room, closing the large door quietly behind her. She seemed to desire nothing more than to blend into the wall as she walked towards the throne with lowered eyes. A casual observer would have required much deliberation to decide even if she was plain or pretty. Simple and correct features contrasted with wide sparkling eyes, though they were an ordinary brown. Commonplace sandy tresses caught in an elaborate plait. Still, the most remarkable aspect of her appearance was her flaxen dress. It had no special feature that made it stand out, yet the ruffled silk would hold anyone's eye. Certainly, the garment showcased the labor of its wearer-master. The young woman, Evelyn, cautiously raised her eyes to briefly scrutinize the girl in the king's lap. Suddenly the embarrassment of her position in the king's lap leapt into Sarah's cheeks.

"Shall I begin, your Majesty?" the woman asked quietly.

"Of course," he gestured broadly across the room, producing a dressing screen, dressmaker's mannequin and a rainbow of satins and brocades spread across a cluttered table.

She moved to her tools, busying her hands immediately. "I presume this is the young lady?"

"I'm Sarah."

"The question was addressed to me," Jareth pinched her shoulder in warning. Sarah's glare faded when she remembered his threat.

Evelyn nodded, using agreement as a tool to ensure she did not get involved. Lover's quarrels were not her specialty, only the gowns which inspired the triangles surrounding some of them. And she certainly passed no judgment on the Goblin King, even centuries out of Navarre. Giving opinions only upon their demand made her the most sought after designer in the Underground, Evelyn would confine her thoughts to clothes. She riffled through a pile of neutral ruffled fabric. "Black or white, your Majesty?"

The king let Sarah slip from his caging embrace while he considered her question; a frown forming on his face. "I always prefer black, perhaps she shall be white."

"Very well," Evelyn pulled white from her pile. The fabric unfolded to reveal a silk slip like garment. It did not fully qualify as a dress. "Lady Sarah if you please," she guided the newly released girl to the dressing screen as she handed her the snowy material.

Sarah looked from the cloth, to the screen to the king's steely stare. The screen was made up of a black wooden frame with gauzy material stretched taught across each window. It did not look particularly private, and she was well aware of Jareth's keen and unscrupulous eyesight. "I think not . . . "

"Sarah," Jareth twisted on his throne. "I believe you were to be working on my mood." She grumbled privately and marched to the screen.

When the rustling of material subsided, it left only the sound of the King's spinning crystals filling its void. "Sarah pet, if you would grace me with your presence?" his condescending tone grated on her nerves more than the clinking glass.

She mumbled something in the negative.

"Sarah . . ."

"There isn't enough to come out in!" her shadow protested.

Jareth smiled, testing the effect of each sharp tooth against his tongue. "Someday I will see you in less, if you'd rather that be sooner than later I'll be more than happy to accommodate."

"You wouldn't dare!" she scoffed, and with a great deal more sarcasm than Evelyn would have thought possible when facing the Goblin King.

"Goodbye Higgle."  
"I'm not coming out."

The Goblin Kings smirk widened. "Hedgewort was my gardener. Although he dethorned my roses and grew weeds in my paths, he always did keep the biting fairy population down. Alas, I will have to begin interviews within the week. We will miss him, but not particularly." He hung his head in mock grief as the eulogy concluded.

The dressing screen clattered to the floor. He looked up, startled as her hand flew against his cheek. Jareth swallowed once, downing his surprise before looking up at her with a steely stare that betrayed none of it. That was not the slap of a disgraced lover or injured comrade to be made light of, but rather . . . she gazed back at him, wide eyed and breathing sharply, altogether terrified by her own violent action. And its repercussions.

"Stop it," he heard her quell the waver in her voice, hiding it behind forceful tones.

"Sarah pet," Jareth stood. "That was highly unacceptable, as you well know." Watching as she nearly took a half step back, reconsidered, and stamped the offending foot back into place, he leaned forward, casting her into shadow. "For that little debacle alone, I could punish you or destroy your so called _friends _as I see fit!"

"Please!" she protested, "please stop. Punish me for my actions, threaten me. Leave them out of it."

His gloved hands fell to her shoulders, pushing her down the dais step. "Sarah . . ."

"They are the only bright spot in this place; please don't hurt them or take them away," she shook her head. "Who else can I take comfort in?"

Mismatched eyes squinted into her green ones, but Jareth found no answer written on her large liquid pupils. "I would have you take comfort in me," he murmured. Even the slip of a dress, that rekindled the argument could not distract him from his thoughts.

"When you are the source of my distress?!? You're my nightmare." She locked her elbows and leaned into the pressure on her shoulders, testing her limits.

The Goblin King would never step back and concede defeat, especially not when both gravity and physical force supported his efforts. Even on those rare occasions when they didn't, he was too proud. Jareth relaxed momentarily, tempering his threat with appeasement: "Sarah pet, you walk a thin line. If I were you . . ." As she fell towards him he resumed the pressure, propelling her into gravity's domain.

One foot slid back over the stone step. Physics against her, Sarah dropped to the floor. Rock bit her shins. As her eyes crept up his languid figure, she gritted her teeth to suppress the tears. "I asked you to stop."

The girl sat at his feet, staring up from his boots. He had always seen the fear in her eyes, anxiety in the emerald pools, seen some piece of her spirit through the emerald pools. He always accounted for the determination, and the fire. He had never seen the pain. Rawness of her vulnerability he'd been blind to and loved all along. "Sarah . . ." a whisper.

"If you do anything else to them, I'll . . ."

In an instant he crouched down beside her. She winced away from the finger he held to her lips. "No need to say anymore, Sarah."

"Then you'll leave them . . . alone?"

Jareth bowed his head. "In this matter," he tipped her chin with one finger, trying to see her hurt eyes. She snatched herself away, so he spoke to her profile without pushing the point. "In this matter, I will do as you ask."

He turned to the dressmaker, trying for all the world to blend into the wall. "Evelyn, we're finished here today." His suddenly harsh voice belayed all he did not say: _speak nothing of this to Navarre_. The seamstress' materials vanished, and she quickly left the room. Jareth watched her depart, faster than the other female shadow he had trained himself to ignore, and turned his attentions back to the girl on the floor beside him.


	16. Methods of Persuasion

I know it's been forever. Over a year. And four more months. And I'm very sorry. Not so much writers block as transitions. I'm in college now, the parents are officially divorced, all those kind of grand things. Anyhow, I meant it when I said I wouldn't let the story die, and I think things should be fairly consistent from here out.

Many thanks to all of you who sent me such kind cattle-prodding reviews during my long absence. I hope you all enjoy.

Persephone 16

Methods of Persuasion

When their tiff ended, he escorted her back to her room, said a few guarded conciliatory words and left. Sarah was infinitely pleased that she hadn't seen him in the two days since. Gilda brought her meals, a welcome change from dining with the Goblin King. The goblin woman seemed to feel honor bound to make the girl smile, and so they spent their evenings chattering away and playing with Portia and her sister Cressida. The little kittens had learned to lap milk under the eyes of two watchful mothers. Of course when her friends visited, she had to show them; Didymus in particular seemed especially proud. Sarah felt happier than she ever had in the underground, but she knew that blissful rex-free days couldn't continue forever.

Her summons came on the third morning, and she grudgingly dressed to meet the king. Gilda's encouragement while she laced the back of the gown only heightened Sarah's desire to be less than punctual. Still, she could only stall for so long.

Her breath caught in her throat as she neared the throne room. She clutched the wall, attempting to steady herself before rounding the corner to face the imposing figure. Sarah pressed her ear to the stone, the cool marble calmed her flushed face. Voices reached her ears.

"Tell me, what are the fashions in my brother's court?" The Goblin King's voice, she shivered.

And the quiet response of the dressmaker which she strained to hear: "Your father would have considered them scandalous; minimal sleeves, excessive _décolletage_, gaiety, and glamour."

Jareth snorted. "He wants his women to look as if he's ravished them before they've been touched. Suits him well."

"Majesty will not be following his trends, I presume?"

"No." He paused, "Not for her."

"Something classical?"

"Yes. Soft and white."

"Perhaps?" a rustle of fabric.

"I dare say that's more appropriate Jareth, your not commissioning a wedding dress," another voice chimed. She could almost hear the twinkling eyes.

"Not yet." Sarah cringed at the mental image of his sharp smirk.

"And you certainly don't want Sarah to think that, or you might incur a black eye to match the bruised ego," laughter.

"Enough Xander." Jareth rejoined. "Come in Sarah." She gulped, her legs caught somewhere between fight and flight.

She crept around the corner, downcast eyes determined to avoid any vestige of the Goblin King, even his boots. "Good morning my dear," Alexander greeted her with cheer she could not share.

For once Jareth took no more notice of her presence than a nod. "Show her the silver Evelyn," he commanded, leaning back on his throne. The riding crop began to tap impatiently.

"Mi' Lady," The dressmaker carried a bolt of cloth to for her to inspect. "Do you approve of this material for your gown?"

Her fingers studied the soft silver fabric. Neither silk nor satin, it poured over her hands like a waterfall, caressing them unlike anything she'd ever touched. "It's lovely."

"Settled then." She caught herself looking at the Goblin King, and went resolutely back to studying the floor. "Evelyn, you are dismissed." She curtseyed once, and disappeared with all of her things, including the material in Sarah's hands. "And you Xander."

The elder fae winked, "So soon?"

"I'll call you if I require your assistance, as always." His gesture matched his clipped tone.

"Couldn't I stay and save you the trouble and me the head ache?" Jareth shook his head.

Alexander shrugged in return and vanished with a wink.

She felt as if her heart beat should have echoed through out the vast and suddenly empty chamber. Thankfully it didn't; her pulse made it clear to her that the Goblin King inspired the same feelings when you felt empowered by victory as when you cowered at his feet. But so long as the thrumming stayed private, she wouldn't let him know that.

"Sarah . . . ," his voice melted through the silence. He could already feel the political worries melting away, his temper threatening to surge through the apathy of stress.

"Why did you call me?" she interrupted.

Jareth smiled snidely, "I missed your sweet face, and your sharp tongue. Perhaps even your quick fingers." He touched his cheek in mock pain and she glared at him for belittling her attack. Standing, he picked up a chastising tone, "Although I should demand an apology . . ."

"_Apology_?"

"I realize that I am also partly to blame, but we are too far behind schedule," He stalked closer, circling around behind her. It was not the time to antagonize, but tiptoeing around Navarre always put him in a foul mood.

"In part?"

He exhaled sharply, "Sarah, do not fight with me today."

"Well, if you expect perfect obedience you won't . . ."

In an instant he had spun her around to face him. His right hand slipped from her shoulder to her waist; she flinched away. "Cooperate with me Sarah." Jareth commanded full of irony, "Today that is all I ask."

"Doing what?" she asked quietly.

Others might have almost found him roguishly charming. "Dance with me," the gloved hand brushed her waist again, but she had already stepped back. "You did not find it such an unpleasant experience in our past," he murmured.

Defensively, her arms crossed. "Once was enough, thanks."

Jareth gritted his teeth. "Sarah, I'd prefer this to be as painless as possible." Another step forward, and she would be trapped against the throne.

"You must know how to waltz at least," he offered a hand, hoping she would take it without any further confrontation. Perhaps if he said please she would acquiesce, but kings did not ask. The women at parties usually fell at his feet, even when he was cruel. Some had political motives; most were truly affected by him. Draco had always envied that.

"I waltzed in theater," she crossed her arms. "I can do it just fine."

His voice fell to a whisper, "then why do you insist on being so difficult?" Jareth reached for her waist again. "Come here Sarah." She winced away, completely disobedient.

When he wanted to move, he was as fast as a viper, Sarah found herself realizing again. "Sarah . . ." he drawled again, running his fingers delicately up and down her rib cage. "To dance I need to be able to touch you." She stayed stock still, but could not cease the tremors in her trapped hands, or clam her nervous eyes. His head bent, he placed a hand on each of her hips, then let one explore her back, with the same tender caress he would have used on a frightened animal. He smiled to himself. Then he looked at her face.

All wide green eyes and quivering lip, her pale countenance pleaded with him. Hands stopping on her waist, he looked down at her straight into those deep tempestuous eyes. "I do not want your fear, just trust me."

"I'm not . . ."

He smiled as gently as possible. "You're trembling."

"I'm not . . . ," she lied again, over taken with the action. Today, no matter how deeply she searched herself, she could not find a sharp remark or violent outburst. She hated the feeling of vulnerability; she had always hated it, whether it was caused by him, by Karen, by the kids at school, or a pointless but difficult science paper . . . Refusal was all the strength she could find.

"I just want you to dance with me," he sighed. "Please Sarah." Stepping back onto the floor he extended a hand, deigning to ask. Beneath a rex, but . . .

"No."

And he would ask, and she would dare to refuse him. Advancing on her again, he reached for her waist- and caught her gaze again. Her wide green glare was not one of anger. Her eyes were full of terror, even quiet tears that she defiantly refused show him. "XANDER!"

Dancing with the older man was blissful, rather like a fairytale experience were he only a prince of her own age. "One . . . two, three. One . . . two, three. And One . . . two, three, twirl, two, three . . ." he counted, waltzing her around the throne room, encouraging: "That's it my dear! Splendid!" They had already been over the fox trot and two-step, even a touch of tango, which she had least expected. In the easy space of an afternoon, Alexander has taught her the basics of each new dance, and added some waltz steps to her basic repertoire. He was a kind, patient teacher and his whole manner reminded of her of the way she'd danced with her father as a child, although she didn't stand on Alexander's feet. He spun her around as the music stopped, fading into their laughter. The cool boom of clapping leather cut into the merry sound with sarcasm and she spun quickly to find the Goblin King standing in the doorway, watching. Alexander placed a gentle hand on her shoulder to steady her.

"Don't look so put out my dear," he teased with only a little less menace then his voice had held in the morning. "I haven't come to force you to dinner, or anything quite so unpleasant." Alexander gave him a warning look; the king lowered his chin, defiant of guidance.

"What is it then? What do you want of me?" she asked, her good humor quickly fading.

He tapped his riding crop against his thigh as he crossed the room. "After your lesson," the sharp smacks punctuated his mystical voice, "I'd like you both to move down to the stables for the evening," he said as he approached them. Sarah shrunk back against the other man's shoulder. "Your Nightengale's labor has begun and she would appreciate the calming touch of her mistress."

"Tonight?" she asked hopefully, her dread lifting. "Will the foal be born tonight?"

Alexander leaned down to speak quietly in her ear in that gentlemanly way that always charmed or comforted young women, and irritated Jareth. "It can take a very long time, my dear. It may be late tonight; it may be far into the morning."

"I know," she sighed, reserved. "But it's still exciting."

"But someone must stay through with the mare," Jareth took his place on the throne, legs stretched casually as he watched them. Alexander looked up at the king, well aware that his permission would mean everything to his young charge as her eyes grew round and hoping that he would have the foresight to grant it.

Sarah raised her eyes timidly to Jareth's mismatched ones. When he had taken her, he told her that if she were to ask, he would grant reasonable requests. And he had given her the horse. Her mouth crept open as he watched them. "Your Majesty . . . could I . . ."

"Call me by my name when we are in private," he corrected with a wave of his hand.

She ignored the correction and pressed on, "Can I stay with Nightengale? If she needs someone and she's my horse . . ."

"Technically, I promised her to you after the birth of the foal," He felt, rather than saw her eyes begin to ice over into anger. "Go to her now, and we'll see how the evening progresses."

"But . ."

"Save your arguments."

"Please?"

"I appreciate the asking, but I do not want you terribly over tired. We leave for Navarre day after tomorrow and the journey will be strenuous," he pressed his hand to his temple because the very name reminded him of his headache. Indeed, he wanted her at her best, both in behavior and beauty, to properly show off at Navarre.

"So soon Jareth?" Alexander cut in. He squeezed Sarah's shoulder in order to tell her that he'd help her get her way, but also to warn her to be silent on the matter at present, and not to explode at the news. The girl wisely held her tongue, though her eyes betrayed desire of the knowledge.

"We'll only arrive the afternoon before Draco's lovely little party to celebrate my ruin. We'll discuss it later Xander. See to her horse." Before either could argue the point, he had disappeared.

"Did you argue? More than usual, I mean to say; he's in a right foul mood again."

"I think," Sarah laughed as she spread the blanket in front of Nightengale's stall; they both sat with a picnic basket between them. "I've seen worse now. No, we didn't argue. Well, not any more than usual."

"You aren't afraid of him," he stated as fact rather than opinion. The older fae looked into the darkness at the mare pacing in her stall. Her velveteen sides gleamed with sweat and her dark eyes seemed to question the pain she felt. He reached out to touch her nose and she stilled momentarily. "When you decide to stand up to him, you do."

"It's not that simple . . ." she spread her hands why, wondering why the subject had come up. She thought back: they had collected the basket, and reported to the stables, under Jareth's promise/threat that he would return for because she was not to be over-tired. For a trip she did not understand and did not want to take. Sarah rolled her eyes. "I can't just decide . . ."

"Why not?"

She wondered why Alexander was even helping her, but he did seem to like to antagonize the king . . . and a little gossip always trickled into a given conversation. "Why not what?"

He smiled, petted the mare and sat down beside her. "Just decide that you aren't afraid anymore. Certainly it won't be easy . . ."

"I'm not like you. I don't know how you can just tease him . . ."

"Impertinent practice."

"Xander . . ." she giggled.

"I am serious my dear," he said, opening the picnic basket and removing a bowl of strawberries which he handed to her. "He admires your strength, but that admiration makes him quite determined to keep you from knowing how strong you are."

She shook her head which sent sable locks falling over her shoulders. "But you're wrong, and he's right, and . . . I'm not strong."

"When you need to be my dear. When your brother was taken, when you stood up for your friends." He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and flicked her hair away, "My child, you endure."

She lowered her shoulder, turning in on herself. For a moment, her eyes left his, but then she glanced back, protected by the curtain of her hair and asked softly, "Why are you telling me this? He'll be angry, and . . ."

"Shhhh," he raised her chin with one soft finger. "Someday, I want you to be happy here. And I don't want you to be afraid of your strength."

Once Jareth had released her, Lyja had gone straight back to work. Well, she had initially tried to follow him, but he disappeared with a disgusted laugh, which made her skin crawl with both self-hatred and longing. Although she did not want to leave the becoming darkness, her plans would only fester in the rot of the oubliette. She found Shel, and dragged him, by the ear, out of the kitchen where he was working with that other one, the female. When Gilda tried to follow, Lyja slammed the door in her face with a sneer.

"I'm back," she hissed, forgetting for a moment to play coy to him. It did not matter. He blushed at her soft fingertips on his sensitive froggy ear, even if they twisted rather than caressed. A pleased blush had spread over his face by the time she released him. He fell against the wall, smiling. "I need your help Shel."

And she was the only one who remembered his name, besides Gilda, but Gilda hardly counted anymore. "I would do anything for you. You aren't hurt . . .?"

"That's not important Shel. Focus." She squatted down to his level and remembered to simper. Her elegant fingers curled through his stubby brown ones. "I have a very important task that only you can complete."

He stared down at their clasped hands; his heart pounded in his chest; he wondered if she could hear his pleasure. "Tell me," he breathed out with a distinct quiver.

"In two days time, his Majesty will take the girl we all detest," Shel nodded and she knew she had him right where she wanted him, "to the his brother Draco's Coronation Ball, held in the Underground capital Navarre, where they will celebrate his brothers ascension to the high kingship." It pained her to be so simple, but she could see that even these words were a trifle too grand for the little man beside her. "If he presents her as his future queen at that ball, there is nothing we can do to stop them in the future." That, at least, was true, even if it was completely superfluous information.

"Because we don't like her?" Shel interrupted.

"Yes," she purred, squeezing his hand. "Because we don't like her. Now I need you to find the dressmaker Evelyn and gown she creates. They will be kept in his Majesty's wing of the castle. Just find them, and tell me where they are. Simple."

Shel's eyes were wondering. She pulled him to her and let the slimy little body touch her own. If her plan succeeded, she could throw him away like a wet leaf, to rot in some unknown dank cellar, once other arms surrounded her in beautiful night. The disgust was a small price to pay. "Second, you must find out which rooms belong to the _Lady Sarah_," her voice dripped with disgust, "Find all of the entrances and exits, each window and each lock. Then I want you, while you work tonight, to take the key."

"Gilda likes her," he said sheepishly, as if that was an excuse, the woman he had nearly forgotten until guilt set in. "I can't get the key from her . . . she won't just let me have it . . ." His piggy little eyes found hers. They burned with what he thought was love, but she knew better, and used it against him.

Lust was a powerful weapon. "Then steal it, and don't tell her." Lyja's soft fingertips stroked his worn vest aside and circled over the place that held his shriveled goblin heart. "Because what we do is for the good of all, and," she lowered her eyes pathetically, as if she were afraid to confess the truth. Her other hand plucked his away from his side, took it in her own and placed it just below the dip in her neck. With the utmost reverence of pseudo-love, she slid their connected palms down to her own heart. She hid her grimace at the feeling of his clammy calloused fingers on her exquisitely pliable neck. She moved their hands to the side of her breast, where he could feel the beat. Shel inhaled softly. "And because . ." she stammered, meeting his muddy eyes, "you love me." She could see guilt and desire fighting in his face, but in his body, desire was winning out. His mouth hung open in wait of words.

Someday. Someday the hands of the Goblin King would burn this impurity from her with polluted pleasure. Gloved or ungloved, someday they would caress her intimate flesh, make her writhe with passion, and one she wanted at that. Someday, she would sit on his lap in their throne. Someday, the power would be merely another perk of the job. Someday, when she moaned his name, it would be because his hands were making her do so.

"So does Gilda . . . I can't, steal from her, not even to help you . . . ," he hung his head, shamed to disappoint her.

But today, she knew that in some respects anyway, hands were hands. She moaned through her teeth as her flesh stiffened, as she pushed his hand harder into the softness of her breast over her heart and slid his knuckles over her nipple. She locked eyes with him and begged, over and over again, until her will was his.


	17. An Earthly Beginning

Persephone 17

An Earthly Beginning

Despite his initial scruples, that very night while Sarah and Alexander watched over the mare in her wait for labor and Jareth prepared for the journey to Navarre, Shel crept through the castle doing Lyja's bidding. He released Gilda from her imprisonment in the kitchen without letting her see who had done so. He heard her quiet cries into the darkened hallways, and denied her desire to know who had come to aid her or answer as she called his name in hopes of finding him safe after the other woman's violent abduction. As he skulked in the darkness, made strangely less clumsy by Lyja's attentions, he willed himself to be the dark beguiling woman's creature. And he was. Gilda would find no white knight or old eager companion in him any longer. He let her run off sniffling with only a curt laugh that was not his own. Once she departed, he sneaked into the kitchen. Her keys lay abandoned on the table where she had forgotten them in her distress. Without a second thought, he slid the proper key off the ring jingling with its brethren and pressed the cold metal into his palm until he could feel it burn.

YYYY

The mare Nightengale pawed at the straw in her stall impatiently when the girl was not there to comfort her. Her swollen sides gleamed with sweat instead of their usual velveteen sheen. Sometimes, as Sarah stood by, she would turn her head and stare at her belly as if perplexed by the sensations, her great brown eyes full of curious wonder. Alexander explained that mares often seemed confused during their first births, but that her maternal instincts would naturally take over once the foal was dropped. Then he smiled as the girl in turn explained this to her mare, over and over and over, because she had nothing else calming to say. He watched her softly brush the mare's moist coat during those long hours, chatting lightly with her when she was not cajoling the horse. In her natural state with sable brown hair floating free and straight down her back, dirt under her fingernails and mirth in her eyes, he did not envy Jareth at all. He could see, as she was quick to smile and laugh, why his harsh lord had fallen so hard for her even at her tender mortal age, and he could see why his king's patience was wearing thin. Yet his lord did not see this side of her, because she hid it from him, half in fear and half in defiance. She did show him her strength.

They fit together like puzzle pieces, or better like the opposing squares of a chess board. Where he was fair, she dark; he cruel, she kind; he corrupted, she abused. And yet they were alike, in that paradoxical way. Whether or not they understood it, they were both at times domineering, at others jealous. They certainly both specialized in stubbornness. They both had the same fire in their eyes. He hated to think about soul mates, for when he did, he had to except that his belle-âme had gone away and chosen another- Adele, his dove, Jareth's cousin, who had gone to sit on the arm of the dragon's apprentice, willingly, for the rest of her millennial life. Perhaps the Goblin King had finally found his other half, he supposed. Not, of course, that the girl agreed with him. Beyond the pair's flagging vision, he could see them falling deeply in love . . . when given a few thousand years.

Once the mare quieted, Sarah kissed her nose and returned to Alexander's side. "Your touch works magnificent wonders," he said, giving her back an approving pat. "You have quite taken the suffering out of her."

"How much longer?" she asked with empathetic anxiety.

"It's always hardest for first foalings. The filly isn't likely to come until after dawn, I'd guess." It was hard to tell the anxious young mother and inexperienced midwife that this was not yet true labor and that they would have to keep waiting.

Her mossy eyes lit up. "You think it's going to be a girl?"

"In my medical opinion," Alexander swept a teasing bow, "I have no idea. However, since his Majesty desires a colt, I predict Nightengale will deliver him a filly." He winked, "Such suits the Goblin King." He watched for Sarah's reaction, but her pale face turned away. She leaned against the wall as if checking on the mare; her curtain of sable hair hid her expression.

"Then I would say that the foal will be a colt. The son of Pradosh he wants." Her voice had a thin quality, but she did not wilt in that frail uncultivated flower way he was accustomed to seeing, Alexander observed.

He walked over to stand beside her, his hand light on her shoulder. "Which would you prefer?"

She did not hesitate. "Oh, a girl. Not to spite him, or anything, just because . . ," she trailed off, her lips parted in thought for a moment. She shook her head and smiled, unsure of what she had been about to say. He let the conversation drift to other happier matters.

While the expectant mother paced her stall in relative calm the pair resumed their easy conversation. After it grew tedious, they turned to cards. First, Sarah attempted to teach the older man Crazy Eights, but Alexander continuously rippled the suits on the decks of cards. Just to vex her, his hearts suddenly became clubs, when she had none of them. He would not have cheated if it didn't inspire such peals of laughter from the girl, a welcome relief from her tense murmurings whenever she went to calm the mare and all the various morose states in which he usually saw her. Eventually, the game became too silly to continue, so he showed her magic tricks. Although he began with the simple slight of hand magicians in her world commonly used, pulling a card from behind her ear or finding her secret choice, he soon bewitched the cards in ways she'd never seen. Hearts, diamonds, spades and clubs whirled through the dim stable, creating little lines and dancing before the four twos would decide to take on the four aces. The kings ripped strips of paper from their sides and popped out of the flat plane and duel amongst themselves while their respective queens waved their tissue handkerchiefs on the breeze. The paper casualties were fierce, leaving many wounded sevens to limp back to Alexander's palm in disgrace. Eights seemed particularly vulnerable; the jacks continuously hid, which caused great confusion. In the grand finale, all the cards resolved their differences in truce and formed one sheet, which try as she might, Sarah could not separate back into its individual members. Of course, the cards suddenly separated when Alexander tossed them skyward, creating the largest game of fifty-two-pick-up in all history with cards stuck all over the stable, in mangers and water buckets, boots and the straw beneath them. Try as she might to call them, the cards remained resolutely stationary and Sarah found herself obliged to gather them while Alexander laughed merrily.

Breathless, and with the mare calm, she crouched down beside the stall again and punched Alexander's shoulder with a glint in her eye. "Now," she said, opening her book on her lap, "you're going to behave, and I'm going to read."

"As you like my lady," he ruffled her hair and her smile touched those amber-like green eyes.

She looked down into her book and skimmed a paragraph before looking up again. "And Alexander," she added softly, "Thank you."

He just smiled and dismissed her gratitude as unnecessary.

YYYY

After hours of rising to comfort the mare, even though Alexander said it was unnecessary, Sarah grew more and more sluggish and sleepy. When Jareth appeared in the stables at midnight to collect her, she was fast asleep. Alexander looked up at his lord with a smile, his fingers gently on the girl's temple, her head on his shoulder while she dozed. "Xander," he began, far too loudly, "What have you . . ." The older man pressed a finger to his own lips with such a smirk that it at least reduced the Goblin King's roar to a proper whisper. " . . . done? She's supposed to be . . ."

"Don't act all threatened Jareth. If you're so nearly too old for her, I certainly am," he said with a twinkle in his eye even though he doubted that had been the conclusion of Jareth's sentence. Against his shoulder, Sarah stirred, and Jareth stiffened. "She won't want to go," he added, taking advantage of his lord's rare silence. "And the mare's time is close."

He pulled his eyes away from the girl's face and looked into the stall. The mare stood in the corner, looking no closer to giving birth than she had that afternoon. Such was the way of things with the Goblin King. He glanced back down, at Sarah's face, so peaceful in her rest. Her lips parted softly in the cool moonlike beauty he most loved, and that she so often hid. He didn't dare touch her. "You yourself said that Nightengale won't give birth until dawn. She should sleep before we depart for Navarre tomorrow."

"She is asleep."

"A bed of straw hardly counts."

Alexander's finger circled slowly over her temple before curling a tendril of her hair. "You know what it would mean to her. Jareth, have a heart."

"I do."

"Debatable. Go visit your stallion," he removed his hand from the girl's head to gesture his lord away. Sarah stirred and settled herself back against his side, her somnambulant smile widening at the corners. Dimly, she felt herself waking as words and shapes formed in her mind.

"Don't order me about."

With her eyes half open, she could make out the darkly clad Goblin King leaning against the stable wall where he blended with the blackness. Instead of pretending to sleep, because she did not want him to scoop her up and carry her she told herself, she opened her eyes and straightened her spine. "Please…" she tried to sound polite instead of frail and sleepy, "I would like to stay with Nightengale. She needs me."

He smiled as she lifted her head from Alexander's shoulder; a strange smile that did not seem innately cruel, one she couldn't place. "The journey to Navarre is so long, she'll eventually grow tired of the countryside and doze. Besides, I'm sure Sarah has long outgrown having a bedtime."

She couldn't help but roll her eyes. Jareth nodded, then lowered himself. Resolutely, she kept herself from showing any emotion in her face as he neared her, no fear. His hand found a place on her shoulder, though for a moment she thought he must have been Alexander because of his light touch, she almost thought to use the word kind. "If the foal is not born by sunrise, then you will be sent to bed regardless, is that clear?"

Sarah blinked. "But that's silly. If you'll allow me to stay up all night, another few hours won't make any difference. If anything I'll just be groggy."

"Sarah . . ."

She had to admit that she liked his softer side better; it made following Alexander's advice much easier. "I've stayed up all night and not slept at all before. This is nothing. Really." She took a deep breath. "Please?"

For a moment, she thought he was about to sigh. "Once the foal is born, you will retire to your room, whenever that may be. Bargain?"

Sarah nodded. She stood and returned to the mare, stroking her muzzle and luring her back out of the corner. Alexander caught his King's eye and gave him a wink, proud of the civility of decorum displayed by both. Before Jareth shimmered out of sight, he caught a glimmer of Sarah's smile.

YYYY

The filly was born with the dawn, coal black like her mother with one white foreleg. She was not the true black son the king had wanted, but Sarah thought she could not be any more perfect. In her first few moments, Alexander let Sarah go to the tiny wet horse, even as her mother licked the moisture from her coat. Sarah grinned back at the older man while the mare nuzzled her daughter and their mistress. He thought she looked more radiant than he'd ever seen her, elbow deep in dirt, coated in sweat, with her cheeks as rosy as the sky outside. Sarah gazed into the baby's eyes and couldn't help thinking of herself in a maternal light too.

"You'll completely gentle the spirit out of her," a cool voice whispered over her shoulder. She whirled around to discover the Goblin King leaning against the wall in the opposite corner, dusting glitter off his spike-covered shoulders intro the straw.

Her mouth fell open, but Alexander answered: "Come now, isn't that the point? You won't deign to ride a mare, and no one else wants the challenge of an eternally half broke horse." Sarah closed her mouth, smiled, and raised an eyebrow at the king before returning her attention to the filly.

Jareth ignored Alexander; the small beating in his chest caught in his throat as he looked at her. "It's time for bed Sarah. We made an agreement."

Instead of rising obediently and coming to his side, she whispered softly, "She needs a name."

He successfully fought the desire to exquisitely roll his eyes. "And what shall it be, since you don't seem to trust my judgment, hmm?" He moved close behind her, hesitating for a moment before placing a black gloved hand on his shoulder.

"It is traditional to combine the parent's names when naming their offspring," Alexander added.

She used his procrastination to swallow her grimace. She hesitated, stroking the foal's downy near-dry muzzle. "I don't know; I haven't had time to think of a good one yet," she shrugged without looking at him.

His fingers closed talon-like around her rising shoulder. "Then you'll have plenty of time. You start for Navarre tomorrow morning, and we shan't return before the end of the week." His hand crept to her cheek, turning her towards him. She did not fight him, but her face turned stormy.

"That's too long."  
Jareth sighed; she seemed to love to vex him so, with her prettily pouted lips and upturned eyes. He was sure she had no idea of their effect on him, that strange pull and the longing her knew well. He tried to smile gently, as Alexander was undoubtedly doing. The mare nickered to her foal in the back of the stall, musical in the musty air. The wool of her thick above-ground sweater would have itched beneath his fingertips. "Sarah love," he had never called her that before, and had the unhappy satisfaction of seeing her wince. He had not meant to. He pretended not to notice, and tucked a strand of her ebony hair behind her ear, "it will have to do."

She frowned, blinking away from his touch, and the strange word. It almost sounded right with his strangely accented voice, but the idea that the word belonged confused her even more. She would have blushed, but she did not want to antagonize him.

"He's right Sarah," Alexander interrupted as he walked into the stall to help the girl gain her feet and take her arm. He glanced at Jareth in a way that made him acutely aware that he should have taken the same action himself. When she moved closer to the older man and confirmed his suspicions, he couldn't help but feel a certain animosity towards his friend. "But perhaps you could stop by early in the morning. I'd be happy to take you, before we depart."

Of course, the way he said it gave Jareth no choice, and he would consent if only to see that smile. "Of course you may," he nodded with a veiled glare at Alexander which meant the subject would come up again. He couldn't have the man undermining his authority…over and over again. "I'll have Gilda wake you early enough."

"Gilda?" her eyes brightened.

His teeth clenched, "Yes. Although you will have a proper lady's maid at Navarre." Her features wrinkled in confusion. He extended his arm and attempted to sound affable rather than demanding, "If you please…"

"Please what?" her neck dipped in such a way that indicated she knew. Alexander cleared his throat, took her arm from his, and slipped it through the king's.

Jareth drew her close. He noticed that liked the way stables smelled on her. "I'm escorting you back to the castle, your room, and sleep," he said slowly as his arm tightened.

Her eyes grew large, the dark pupils inky and momentarily animalistic. "I'd much rather walk," she replied, much too quickly for her calm demeanor throughout the evening.

"I did not say we were not," he smiled with those sharp teeth harsh against his thin lips. "Though if your not sure you wouldn't rather I transport . . ." his fingers tightened on her wrist.

"No." Alexander, assembling his things in the background, shook his head in the negative.

"Very well then," he smirked the bit of shame from his voice and started for the door. "Here," he opened the spiked leather jacket, pulled it from his shoulders and draped it over hers. "It's gotten cold out."

She had to admit that he was right, but she didn't want to accept any charity of his, or acquaint herself with his smell. "I don't want it," she pushed the leather off her shoulders.

He reached around to stop her, and pulled the lapels together. "Come now Sarah . . ." he chided.

Now they were out in the dawn air, and she felt the chill. It wouldn't do to accept his generous gift, but she knew that shivering after refusing the coat would only make him the victor. "Fine."

They walked in silence. She contemplated the ground and tried not to feel her shoulder against his side, or the weight of his gentlemanly, but restraining arm. He hid his gaze from her, seeming to observe the scenery of his domain, but focused on her gentle presence. She yawned. "You'll be leaving early tomorrow morning; your things have already been prepared," he remarked.

"When?"

"Early, as I said."

"I'd really like a time. And some details." She halted abruptly, her free hand falling to her hip. "Where is Navarre, how far is the journey, how am I getting there, who is traveling with me?"

Jareth took a moment to collect his thoughts. "I did not suspect that you would concern yourself with such trivialities."

"I feel like enough of a leaf on the breeze, thank you," her voice softened, and she sought his eyes. "Could I have some answers, please?"

He turned to her. They had reached the rear gates of the castle, where Jareth's gardens and courtyards hid from the uncivilized world of the city. With a nod, he found them a stone seat by the stairs. She was careful not to place herself too close to him. "Navarre lies to the east over the horizon. You will travel for one day by carriage with Alexander to accompany you," he turned to her with a raised eyebrow. "Any more questions?"

"Why am I going?" she paused, not wanting to express anything which might indicate concern. "Why are you going?"

He gazed out at the first rays of sunshine spreading as the molten globe pierced the rosy sky. "I will explain simply now, and instruct Alexander to answer additional questions tomorrow. Will that be satisfactory?" She nodded, and he continued. "I am the second son in my family. My father has recently died, and now that a suitable period of mourning has passed, my elder brother will ascend the high throne amongst much gaiety and glamour. The kingdoms are ready to return to the glorious, but harsh rule my father provided." He looked back at her. His thin lips curled into a smile at the pink glow in her eyes, cast by the rising sun.

"I'm sorry," she replied with reflexive politeness. "About your father, I mean."

He laughed; shocked, she leaned away. "It's nothing Sarah. Kings rule for hundreds of years here, and recent for us is a lifetime ago for you. If naught else, it is time for the chaos to end." He felt a strange sort of comfort, explaining the most mundane details of his politics, of the spinning world in which his family played as if it were a game. He knew that the stakes would always be too high.

"Oh," she said. "I see."

"Don't act so smart," he chided. The sun sparks danced in her hair now, ambrosia drops in mortal chocolate. She held up a hand to shield her eyes from the glare. He looked almost Arthurian, despite his wild hair. Without the imposing jacket, his white shirt rippled softly in the morning breeze and the sun brought out the golden haze in his hair. It lit his cold cruel eyes. For a moment, she saw bright beauty, but she scolded herself when it dipped away again behind his ice veneer. "Any more questions?"

"No," she answered quietly, tearing her eyes away.

Jareth stood, his leverage through their linked arms brining her to her feet. "Then it's off to bed, before its fully new day at least."

She didn't follow him towards the castle. "Wait," she murmured. "I want to see the sunrise."

He tried not to think of the symbolism as he consented. She turned to catch the sun, full in her face. Between Nightengale's filly and the warmth on her face, she felt her first delight in a long time, as if the bright rays melted her soul. The Goblin king stood beside her, watching the sun rise over his kingdom with squinted eyes. He'd always been one for sunsets, never sunrises. The dazzling beams cast their faces into orange hues before brilliant daylight rose over head. The sun rose in the East, and it was going to be a beautiful day.


	18. Physical Distance

I was going to write a note, wasn't sure what to write. So, in no particular order.

I'm hoping this is the last "set up chapter." I had to get over some hurdles here and I don't love the form in which I did. There's more to come. The first for chapters still need and overhaul, and are, ergo, still terrible. Don't worry, someday, far in the future, I'll finish this. Quick random question: Would anyone be amused by a list of the Easter Egg spoilers in this story? I was thinking of having a scavenger hunt. We've got such a long way to go. I love Alan Rickman, chocolate, and critical reviews.

Yes, that should do.

Persephone 18

Physical Distance

As soon as he left her asleep in her room a sudden prickle at the back of his neck told him something was amiss. Jareth pressed his back to the wall in time to see the goblin Shel scuttle up the cobblestone hallway towards him, a trail of silver silk lagging behind. The king stepped from the shadows as his subject neared; his boot connected with the creature's skull and sent him hurtling into the wall with a dull thud. In a flash, he recognized the torn fabric, shreds of Evelyn's labor. The thing crept to its feet, trying to straighten his spine. "Shel," Jareth hissed, the name came easily to him once important, "what _are_ you doing?"

"Inciting revolution," he rasped, ripping the tattered dress in half again as if to prove the point he surely did not understand. Jareth was sure Lyja had kept the mantra simple to easily complete her manipulation.

"Really?" Another impact of his boot turned the goblin on his stomach; he pressed his heal into the gap between his shoulder blades, his toe threatening the newly crooked vertebrae. "Precisely how?" he sneered, enjoying the pressure as he pushed down.

The little would-be man gasped for breath. "By destroying the lady Sarah."

He would not deign to explain the disgusting stupidity of that plan. With his wards of protection, any goblin attack on the girl would be disastrous, as would any attack without the backing of high magic. Nevertheless, the diminished prickle of his danger sense remained. "Where is Lyja?"

"I won't betray her!"

Boot leather bit flesh. "Do you wish to reconsider your words?"

"…No."

He felt the goblin trying to rise, realizing he did not care at all to loose such a pitifully stupid subject. No magnanimity at all. "Pity." Jareth let his eyes fall closed, inhaling the aroma of sweat, and finally realized fear. "A very little pity." Finally, he pushed his foot down.

The thing on the floor writhed as best it could, moaning as the king walked away.

Within three strides, Jareth looked over his shoulder with a grimace. It would cause the wretch more pain to remain in that state forever. And there was too much mercy for himself in just killing the ingrate to solve his problems. He froze the little creature's fractured spine with a grin and walked away, leaving him alone with his agony.

Only a few moments after Sarah closed her eyes to blissful king-free sleep, she heard a soft knock at her door accompanied by pained sniffling. If not for the sorrow present in the sound, she would have turned over and gone back to sleep. "Who is it?" she called into the darkness instead.

"It's me," said a groggy voice her dim mind recognized as Gilda's. "I know it's early, I didn't mean to come here, really I didn't, I just followed my feet."

Sarah went swiftly to the door, unlocked it and ushered her inside. "What happened?"

"It's Shel," the goblin woman moaned as Sarah helped her to a chair. "Shel's gone and deserted me. I never thought it would happen . . . that he'd leave. And he's betrayed his Majesty and all the rest."

Sarah placed a gentle hand on Gilda's thin shoulder. She had no idea how to comfort someone in so much obvious distress. She always brought her father lemon tea, or rubbed Toby's back. She'd even kept Toby out of Karen's hair when she had troublesome headaches- but betrayal? Gilda's emphasis on leaving rather than betrayal seemed strange to her, but she'd only seen a few friends through break-ups, and resolved that she certainly wasn't an expert. "What happened?" she repeated, unable to think of anything else to say.

"I told you about Lyja…"

"Yes, you did."

"Shel'd been hanging about with her more and more," Gilda paused for a bout of hiccups, "I think he left me for her." Sarah didn't think it was the right time to suggest the logical merits of a human woman purposefully seducing a goblin. "He attacked me, stole my keys, he was going. . ." Gilda's gnarled face paled as she realized her own words.

"Where?" Sarah prompted, resting a hand she hoped was encouraging on her friends shoulder.

Gilda's face melted into utter distress. "He was coming here; they had some sort of plan…" Gilda drew a shaky breath. "You haven't seen him, or anything strange?"

The hope in her eyes, hope that Sarah had seen something to put it all right pierced the girl's heart. She hated to shake her head negatively. "I was out all night. My horse had her foal, a filly, black as night."

Gilda cracked a desperate smile. "I'm so happy for you dearie," she said, managing to mean it.

Sarah took her hand and squeezed it gently. "Thank you-"

She looked up as she heard the grating noise of her door. "Well, well, well," a crisp cool voice cut in. All angles, Lyja leaned against the door frame, completely nonchalant, twirling a tiny kitchen knife between her long fingers. "At long last, I meet the Lady Sarah. So lovely, so charming. Your reputation precedes you," she sneered with a mocking bow.

"Who are . . . ?" she began to ask, although she was quite sure she knew.

"Lyja," Gilda spat out, confirming Sarah's suspicions. "Where's Shel?"

She laughed. "You must be Gilda. They say you're . . . _smarter_ than the other members of your oh-so-pitiful slimy little race. Is that all you think about?"

"Where is he?" she asked again, almost begging.

"Ah, so it is." Lyja let herself into the room and locked the heavy door, grinning at their newfound privacy. "Pity, I'm not here for you. I let him touch me you know," she remarked conversationally, delighting in the disgust and hurt in Gilda's eyes. "I let him touch me anywhere he wanted." She giggled, "Then I made him moan my name."

"Get out of my room!" Sarah demanded, squaring her shoulders.

"You don't have any power," Lyja said, advancing instead of retreating. "Who knows what he sees in you. No power except for a pretty face, and no appreciation of that either." Sarah forced herself not to step back. She took a steadying grip on the table, trying to summon the strength the Labyrinth's residents kept telling her that she had. She feared that her pleas fell on deaf ears. She thought of Hoggle, Didymus, Ludo, and Alexander. Lyja continued talking, thrilled with the sound of her own voice, "I'm perfect for him. And he wants you. I appreciate power, and darkness!"

"You can have him! I'm not competing with you!" The anger in her voice shocked her, but she pressed on. Her knuckles turned white, but her voice did not falter. "I don't _want _him." Gilda was trying to sneak towards the door. She locked eyes with Lyja, determined to keep the other woman's attention.

"But he wants you," the other woman spat, circling ferociously. "That's all that matters. What his Majesty desires. He wants to possess your innocence, your pretty face." Lyja laughed as Sarah's face paled. "Your fear." Sarah bit her lower lip; Lyja licked hers. "I'm going to take that all away from you. Your beauty," she waived the little knife in the air, sending tiny flickers of happy dawn light flying around the room like a prism. "Your innocence," her dark hungry eyes sent shivers up Sarah's spine. "And your fear. After I'm through with you, you won't have any fear left," her laughter rang through the room. "Then you can have what you want. You'll be happy. He won't care for you at all."

Gilda reached the door and swung it open, but escape no longer mattered. In the space of an eye blink, the woman leapt across the room. Her hands hooked talon-like onto the front of Sarah's night dress, tearing a gash that in her shock she heard rather than felt. Lyja attacked her face and neck, fingernails scraping the inside of Sarah's lips. Sarah tried to push her back, but without Lyja's driving animalistic forces, Sarah knew she could only hold her off for so long. Eventually, she'd loose. The little kitchen knife pressed and pressed into the skin of her throat, she fought to breathe, but whether time seemed to move slowly, or the knife was simply too dull, it never cut her flesh.

And all at once time sped up again, and he was there. With an unreadable expression on his face, Jareth's gloved hand closed around Lyja's neck and pulled her back. He tore the knife from her hand, twisting her wrist until the joint gave with a dreadful pop. He took the little weapon, pressed the point to her ribs and dragged it down the length of her side. This time, with his strength and anger, the pitiful weapon drew blood. "Is this what you would do?" he hissed, poising the blade to slice her again. "Finally, I am going to take mercy on myself."

In the blink of an eye, he calmly cut a long gash from her shoulder to her useless hand, if she tried to speak, he pressed his hand into her throat, leaving her gasping and gurgling. A sinister smile stretched across his face at the release. But Lyja smiled up at him anyway, with the soft adoring eyes of a fawn. Sarah couldn't bear to watch. "Stop it!" she cried out as he pressed the point to her collarbone.

"I have every right to torture her before I kill her," he said dispassionately.

Lyja pressed herself against the Goblin King's side; Sarah retreated a step. "But you can't kill her."

He sighed, "Why not? After all of this, why not Sarah?"

"Because," she dipped her chin to her chest, hiding from his burning gaze, trying to explain. "Because in some deep dark horribly twisted way, . . . she_ loves_ you. You can't punish her for that." His lip twisted in rank displeasure. The idea of anyone being able to love the Goblin King, of him being lovable, seemed to appall him as much as it did her, or perhaps Lyja alone caused his revulsion. He tried to catch her eye as he shook Lyja and threw her to the floor, but Sarah studied her toes.

"Curse your infernal romanticism! Your eternal mercy! You realize what she wanted to do?" His sudden passion shocked her, both because she hadn't expected fury, and had never seen the Goblin King obviously acting on any emotion whatsoever. She'd seen him irritated, cool, calculating, seductive, menacing, but never overtly angry. Jareth tried again, softening his voice, almost expressing his own fears for her. "She was trying to . . . to hurt you. Impossible, under my protection, she could not have gotten any further but . . ."

"Because she loves you. Which no one else may believe possible. But she does," Sarah raised her chin, trying to stare him down. She did not know why Lyja's life concerned her; her logical self couldn't even ponder the question.

Allowing his victim to slump against his side, he studied her. The color in her cheeks and the steel in her eyes were the same in assertiveness and fear, but nevertheless she seemed an entirely different woman. Grown up rather than a child. Then, she had suggested that Lyja loved him, preposterous and juvenile, not simply because she didn't understand lust. Nevertheless, the knife vanished from his hand; he watched a small smile bloom on her lips. "What would you have me do then," he sighed. "As victim, what reparations do you see fit?"

"You told me that the Labyrinth is a prison."

"Yes."

Sarah swallowed hard, thinking of her tortured friends. "Then put her in North Tower where she belongs, and leave her be."

"I'd rather be dead," Lyja choked out before Jareth cuffed her across the temple, knocking her back to the floor, unconscious. Without thinking, Sarah knelt to help her, but Jareth pulled her up.

His hands pressed hard into her shoulders even though he knew she would think the action forceful rather than protective. "And now? Would you still have me jail her?" he asked as gently as possible.

Sarah nodded silently.

The Goblin King raised a hand over the broken soul, and Lyja vanished. In the back of the room, Gilda cleared her throat. "You are dismissed, Golde," Jareth said tersely. With a meaningful glance at Sarah, the goblin woman scuttled from the room. He took a step towards her. "Are you…," he seemed almost at a loss for words, leaning down to catch her gaze, "all right?"

Her green eyes met his mismatched ones. "As much so as ever."

Silence hung thick in the air, unlike any Sarah had ever heard Underground. They both seemed at a loss for words, merely standing there, looking at each other. Jareth finally spoke: "Why were you not asleep? I put you to bed myself."

"I was comforting a friend," she answered, irked by his sudden irritation. Her words tumbled out of her mouth violently as she broke free of his grasp. "And do you really think that I drift peacefully of to sleep after you leave? No."

He sighed. The words of concern and protection he wanted to express were gone again and any potential bridge of the distance between them was immediately lost.

A few hours later, Sarah's head rested on Alexander's shoulder, gently lolling to the carriage horses' steady trot as she dozed. Despite her initial excitement about a long journey by coach, she soon found them bumpy, and the countryside, although foreign, rather too misty to see much. Alexander told her that her eyes needed time to adjust, that she was seeing the protection spells of other provinces as well as the weather. She tried, alternately squinting and peering into the distance until her exhaustion won out.

Sometime late in the afternoon she awoke to find them still traveling. Nothing seemed to have changed. "Welcome back to the land of the living," Alexander greeted her cheerily. "Feeling better?"

"Much," she smiled, rubbing her eyes. "I can see straight again."

"A very fine thing my dear."

She paused, surveying the carriage's interior in considerably more detail than she had before, and noticing the conspicuous absence of her captor. "How's his majesty traveling, if not with us?"

Alexander nodded, belying that he anticipated the question. "Traditionally, one travels to the king's high events, mainly to show submission by deigning to travel, and inferiority by not apparating."

"He wishes to snub his brother, to say he disapproves?"

"That, and Jareth does not usually ascribe slavishly to fashion." He saw Sarah roll her eyes. "Social fashion, anyway. He's also rather busy. He'll probably work until early evening, poor devil, and then apparate to Navarre and join us."

"Oh," she said, pursing her lips. Despite her curiosity, she did not ask what sort of work he had to do. Alexander might pass her curiosity along, and _he_ might think it some bizarre kind of affection. Or decide to share.

He seemed to read her thoughts, or perhaps they were simply obvious. "Have you any more questions? Jareth instructed me to place my vast knowledge at your disposal."

"Well, what do I need to know? What's the itinerary?"

Alexander chuckled. "You should know, I often tell Jareth you don't like being kept in the dark. He seems to think he's protecting . . ." Sarah cleared her throat, both for fear that he was about to avoid the question, and because she didn't want to hear the king's second hand excuses. "Right. Well, this evening the guests arrive with much pomp and circumstance for the first night of solid revelry. When we arrive, Jareth's arranged for you to spend your afternoon being beautified and relaxing in the true fashion of Navarre. Tomorrow," he winked, "the politics start between the parties, but you won't need to worry about that my dear."

"Will I meet Draco?" she asked, twirling a strand of hair around her finger with nervous eyes.

The older man smiled, hoping she wouldn't launch into a long sermon about her disgust, but prepared nevertheless. "Probably. It is, after all, his party. But Jareth will certainly keep you close. And safe."

Sarah rolled those petulant green eyes his master so adored, scoffing under her breath, "I wish he wouldn't." Alexander decided not to correct her.

Naturally, nine-ringed Navarre stubbornly refused to proceed from the hazy mist until they reached the gates of the innermost rings of the grand walled city. Alexander explained that the two outer rings were squalid circles of depravity, places which made the Red Light district of Paris look tame and boring. The constant fog surrounding them was necessary he said, wincing away from the window, to keep the shock from overpowering newcomers. Travelers were not supposed to identify the capital with its festering poor.

By the time they reached the third ring, the mist dissipated to a penetrable cover, revealing faint traces of uncorrupted peasant dwellings. The people here were proud to always remember that they were superior to someone, and live that way. Despite the difficulty of their existence, they took pride in their labor, that which the city was built upon, and strived to mingle with the artisans in the next two inner rings. The most daring families sold their most beautiful daughters to the merchants three rings further into the city than themselves with varied success. Occasionally, it was rumored, Draco, soon-to-be high king himself, snatched up one of these beautiful virgins to amuse him and charm his bed for awhile, but it might have been sheer myth.

The mist cleared to reveal the innermost five circles, clean, neat, polished and clearly superior. Sarah pressed her nose to the carriage window to watch all the people. For a few moments, she couldn't quash the surprise and shock of seeing other human like people, when she'd seen only the Goblin King, Alexander and Evelyn for so long. The gentry flooded the streets, and carriage after carriage, many grander than their own, stretched as far as she could see before and behind them. Despite many apprehensions, Sarah couldn't help her excitement. A grand ball had to be at least a little fun, didn't it? Questions poured free-form from her mouth; Alexander answered them all in stride. That was the crest of the Librechi region, fae nobility, and their political rivals, the Contestella. He remarked on those to beware and who might be friendly, on whom Alexander thought of as particular friends and those whose babies he'd delivered. She drank in it all, like dried flowers or an aboveground sponge.

Sarah sucked a shaky breath into her lungs as they reached the city's zenith, the palace itself. The whole thing looked larger than the entire Labyrinth. She instantly forgot the city surrounding the palace, it was enough to explore, ignore the rest and never become bored. Her eyes glued themselves to the windows as they drew into a courtyard full of other bright coaches. Red-suited livery trotted up to take the reins of head-tossing horses and hold the doors for gentlemen who in turn held out their hands, allowing beautiful ladies to step daintily down the steps. The air echoed with gaiety and glamour. A wiry ginger-haired boy in livery uniform came to their coach as it came to a stop. As Alexander guided her from the carriage, she tried to catch his eye, eager to see a face that was not only humanoid, but of her own age. He wouldn't look at her, but focused shyly on his boots, job and the horses.

"I didn't think you were the type to try and catch the glance of pleasing young men, mi'lady," Alexander teased good-naturedly as he offered Sarah his arm. "hoping for compliments are you? You'll get plenty enough at the ball."

She accepted his guidance, but rolled her eyes, shaking her head as she surveyed the crowd. "Isn't that Adele?" she asked suddenly, pointing across the courtyard.

The older fae gently smacked her hand down. "Isn't polite," he quipped, his eyes narrowing. The dove in question took her husband's arm across the courtyard, stepping aside as the driver rounded their heaving black horses. Without any tenderness Corinth strode over to a group of young men conversing in the shade; Adele maintained her grace despite the uncomfortable looking speed of her steps. Sarah looked up at Alexander, waiting. "Yes, that is Adele," he said at last; she noted the melancholy in his eyes. "The players are gathering you see. Those men, mostly anyway, support Draco."

Before the affair with Lyja, Sarah had been inclined to think that any alternative to Jareth would be infinitely preferable. Now, she couldn't help her uncertainty. She didn't realize that she'd been staring until a young man, wearing breeches and a green overcoat, met her gaze. Sarah stepped back, barely missing her guide's foot. Her stomach lurched as he nodded in acknowledgement, then returned to his conversation.

"Who is-?" she whispered breathlessly.

"His name is Merfin," Alexander said, leading her towards the castle proper. "And he's a friend of Navarre, so an unlikely friend of ours." He paused, turning around to look back at the group before venturing inside. The group of men seemed deep in conversation, alternately whispering and laughing heartily. "The game you see, is beginning."


	19. All through the Night Part I

Note: This is the end of part one of this story. I tried very hard not to split it, but it became absurdly long. Hope you enjoy. Please review!

Persephone 19

All Through The Night

Part I

"I take it she did not like the idea of a maid bathing her," Jareth smirked, adjusting his coat while imagining the girl's reaction. A real ladies' maid was only one part of her transition to Navarre and high society. "Do you like this one?"

Alexander frowned, but his eyes twinkled too much. "The green sparkles are a bit over much, but we both know you do not actually intend to wear it," he held out another coat with a pretend sigh; his king smirked. "And yes, Sarah was slightly miffed. Disgusted might be a more appropriate word."

"But I presume Sophia has my little princess well in hand," he studied himself in the mirror, adjusting stray strands of his hair over his shoulders, "Despite Sarah's proclaimed modesty and abhorrence of nudity."

"Sophia kept you well in hand for over one hundred years, boyish pranks and all. I'm sure Sarah gives her no trouble," Alexander chuckled. "Wear that one; the black compliments your domineering personality," he teased with a wink.

"You like the spikes then?" Jareth pressed his thumb into the sharp part of the lance on his shoulder, and then studied the depression in his leather glove. He raised one eyebrow in the mirror with a thin lipped smile.

"Your unique sense of fashion requires the lacey shirt." Alexander passed the bright white frothy fabric, but Jareth pushed it away.

"Black."

He rolled his eyes, "Of course. For your brother's coronation you should dress for a funeral."

The Goblin King ripped off the jacket and shirt and studied himself in the ebony rimmed glass. He cut an impressive powerfully sleek figure, but cared little to use those kinds of wiles. They weren't dependable politically, and he always knew he'd succeed with fae women. Seduction simply became boring. He slipped the black shirt and buttoned it half way up his chest, leaving an expanse of skin at his throat, expressing vulnerability to confuse his enemies, and perhaps woo a few politically influential women. None of whom he wanted, but he mustn't let his mind wander back to the one he did. Even after she joined him underground, she distracted him far too much. "You are sure you can take care of her?" he murmured into the silence, as much to himself as Alexander.

"She's not about to crack under pressure, not with proper support," the older man said cautiously.

"Good," Jareth pulled his jacket on. "That's why she shall stay securely on your arm, not mine."

XXXX

Alexander patted Sarah's shoulder comfortingly, as he studied her face. In the background, Sophia seemed to be admiring her handiwork; Alexander had to admit that the girl looked particularly lovely, really divine. Her maids had lightly lined her eyes and accentuated her lips. Her cheeks remained naturally pale as porcelain despite her natural mild blush. Alexander did not doubt her discomfort in the elaborate gown; he wondered how long Jareth had waited to see her wear it. The neckline of the wine burgundy plunged creating delicate and deep cleavage he guessed Sarah didn't even know she had. She fidgeted constantly, showcasing her self-consciousness. Of course, Jareth had probably commissioned the crystal-covered satin gown back when he first met her. Alexander smiled privately imagining his king's more risqué thoughts, even so long ago.

Sarah pressed her chin to her chest, peaking out nervously beneath her dark lashes. "I thought," she asked quietly, belaying her unspoken worries, "that the dress was silver, and that the ball started two hours ago."

"The incident with Lyja required a change of plans." He surmised from her expression that the Goblin King neglected that part of the story when he told it, but cleared his throat and pressed forward, leaning down to whisper. "The gown is lovely my dear. Stunning."

"I suppose I'm not allowed to say I hate it?" her green eyes rolled modestly to the side.

"No. Now smile," Alexander tipped her chin up, silently instructing Sarah to hold her head high and proud. To be strong. "As to your second question, customarily the high court enters these sorts of silly functions in precise rank."

Sarah smoothed the fabric of her gown, running the material between her fingers to comfort herself. "Precise rank?"

"By pair, calculated socio-economic and political status of the higher member. Draco of course, as future high king, will enter last. You and I are somewhere in the beginning of the second half, as I've carved a decent, but decidedly boring societal niche for myself."

"And . . . ?" she queried, trembling slightly, refusing to call the king by name.

"Jareth enters second to last, proceeded by his mother and sisters." Alexander watched her eyes as she absorbed that information; their shimmer indicated her intrigue perhaps. "Of course, this whole process takes several hours and generally, half the soiree." Sarah lowered her head to think, but Alexander raised her chin again. "Be proud my dear, proud." He offered her his arm and traded a wink for her nervous smile.

XXXX

"Sir Alexander nee fourth circle Navarre, and lady."

Sarah tried desperately to keep herself from trembling as the herald announced them. She clung to Alexander's arm as he led her down the stairs, taking in the glamorous crowd already littering the ballroom. Attempting to draw air into her lungs, she focused on the succession of her footfalls, keeping her dress out of contact with her shoes and staying atop her dainty heels. They didn't seem to make her any taller, or at least, she was still the shortest person in the room. Faces darted up to them once they were announced, but they quickly fell away; Sarah thanked her lucky stars that Alexander garnered no more status in the realm. She felt the tension wrapped up in everyone beneath them knowing she stood above them, but could not bring herself to feel superior to any one in the room.

Alexander smiled kindly at her, guiding her across the floor as they mingled with the crowd. Generally, once he had introduced her to any particular couple she watched the guests entering the ball while Alexander conversed, entranced by the grace of their faces, the splendor of their clothing, and the exotic sound of their names. Every minute, someone newly worthy of observation entered the party, stepping daintily down the ivory staircase. Her new acquaintances did not seem to see anything strange in the young lady on the doctor's arm, or her distinct disinterest in conversation; Sarah attributed this to something she'd heard about Alexander's reputation.

He did look up when the herald announced Lord Corinth and Lady Adele almost an hour later. She saw Alexander look decidedly at Adele, without really trying to catch her eye. The woman smiled pleasantly, nodding at all the people who recognized her and her husband as they entered the hall. Suddenly, Sarah realized that Corinth and Adele must garner much higher status if the crowd had shifted from giving a collective glance of acknowledgement to flamboyant obeisance. She reasoned that they must be nearing the royal family now, with Adele a cousin of Jareth. She wondered where Corinth would fall in the structure without her.

Sarah tore her eyes away from the dove and dragon's apprentice as they crossed the dance floor to tug on Alexander's arm. "Is that why," she realized her voice was to loud for such a personal question, so she lowered it suddenly, "Is that why you didn't marry Adele? Something as stupid as status?"

Alexander smiled good-naturedly. He knew Jareth would never allow such impudence, but she charmed him with her honest naiveté and curiosity. "Why is it that you think I wanted to marry Adele, hmmm?"

She colored and dipped her chin, which he immediately raised with one finger. "The way that you look at her, mostly. If you love her still, you must have wanted to marry her. And if you never married anyone else . . ."

Alexander couldn't help but chuckle, charmed by her view of the world and amused when he imagined what her hypocritical reaction would be to Jareth's suggestion of marriage. She would not likely realize that he loved her, even then. "Faulty though your logic may be, yes, I did once love and seek to marry the lady in question."

"I knew it! And you still love her."

"Too loud my dear," he chided, "especially with so many eager ears around."

She blushed again; Alexander pondered how precisely Sophia had known that tint on her cheeks would be unnecessary. "Sorry," she mumbled.

"Don't think so little of status my dear, it has interrupted many a fairy tale."

The herald interrupted: "Lord Merfin, first circle of Navarre, counselor to his soon to be majesty." The handsome man Sarah had seen upon arrival strode down the staircase alone, looking both dashing and a little dangerous. Sarah saw many women on the dance floor in near swoon; she barely noticed her hands subconsciously straightening her dress.

Alexander gave her a little nudge, "So ends the common folk we might say, and begins the royal family."

She couldn't remember when she last ate, perhaps before Nightengale's foal was born? "Good, then we can eat. I'm starving." Alexander told her great tales of the banquet to come. Her eyes followed Merfin across the room, she could have sworn he looked at her, until he disappeared into the waiting crowd. The people in the room parted, creating a laneway across the grand ballroom to the dais at the back.

He smirked. "Don't underestimate the size of the royal family."

Sarah scoffed, but soon realized that she should have taken him seriously. Adele seemed the only distant royal relation who didn't enter in the last group. Anyone else who could claim a link to the royal family, by birth or marriage, quite simply did. Sarah soon lost track of the titles. Cousins, aunts and uncles all paraded into the hall. But despite the distance of their relations, Sarah could see striking familial resemblances which only increased as more people went by. Eventually, she grew bored, finding herself sick of the long line of blonde blue eyed royals, the vast majority of them women, and turned to watch the way the _normal_ people greeted them, if that word applied to any of them. Finally, Alexander nudged her shoulder. "Pay attention," he whispered.

The herald gave a long pause, and the constant whisper in the room died. He cleared his throat. "The High Princess Lindel."

Sarah's eyes went wide in shock. A sister? She sought Alexander's gaze with a million questions, but didn't dare to speak through the impenetrable silence.

"High Princess Jocaster and King Metagon of Aubergene."

"High Princess Phaedra and husband."

"High Princess Ilillith and King Silas of the northern Shadowlands."

Four sisters then. The women were all willowy and delicate, with high set cheekbones, sleek eyebrows and delicate noses. They all looked like something out of a fairy tale, dressed in silk and jewels and oh so royal. Superiority just seemed to leak from their pores. She could easily see the family resemblance. Alexander broke some of Sarah's sense of awe as he leaned over to whisper to her: "Her highness Lindel is the youngest of daughters, yet unmarried. She's the only member of the royal family younger than Jareth. Status is determined by age, and of course gender."

"Her majesty, the dowager queen, widow of his majesty Sepulchrave."

Sarah's breath caught in her throat; somehow, if sisters were a surprise, the idea of the Goblin King having a mother, although painfully logical, seemed even more foreign. She took a deep breath and watched the queen descend. She looked just like her daughters and the son Sarah knew, despite a touch of white in her gilded hair, but her face seemed kinder, softer somehow. "Savionne," Alexander whispered, supplying the name.

"King of the Labyrinth and High Prince."

Jareth strode down the steps quickly, as if bored with the affair, a vision of disillusioned strength in solid sparkling black. Shimmering coal dust streaked his hair as well, artificially setting him apart from his brightly-clad fair family. Sarah looked up to catch his eye, expecting some sort of personal notice, but he did not make eye contact with anyone in the room. He passed within a foot of her, sending a shiver creeping up her neck. She'd never felt faint in quite that way since . . . but that dream seemed a lifetime ago, and this was real. Jareth followed his sisters and mother to the high table, not deigning to acknowledge anyone even though many admirers tried to get his attention.

"And Sepulchrave's favored son and heir," Sarah imagined the Goblin King's wince as the herald announced his brother with such reverence. She glanced at the back of his head. "We praise and crown his majesty for triumphantly holding the lesser kingdoms of the underground together with diligence and strength; he will bring us a strong firm hand once more. Draco, tomorrow to be crowned High King of the Underground!"

The whole room fell deadly quiet in anticipation; everyone suddenly held their breaths. A full minute passed as every eye in the assembly fixed on the top of the staircase. Then, in a cloud of red smoke, Draco appeared to thunderous applause. Sarah narrowed her eyes, studying the Goblin King's hated brother. They might have been twins. Like the rest of the family, Draco stood tall and svelte, dangerously angular. Jareth's gaunt face seemed full in comparison to his. Draco kept his hair shorter than his brother, with harsh spikes. He wore blood red regally accented with gold. She thought he looked as much like a king of these people as anyone could. Then he smiled; Sarah could almost have sworn she saw fangs at the corners of his fierce crimson mouth. His eyes were hard, edgy. Around her, the rest of the assembly clapped and cheered, awestruck by the strength of their new king. Sarah took a startled step back into Alexander, who steadied her.

"I hope you're fainting of hunger, rather than sudden nerves?" he whispered teasingly. "That corset is quite tight."

"The nerves aren't sudden," she replied, returning his gentle squeeze of the hand as her eyes swept the room. Alexander took comfort that neither the high king, nor his veiled reference to her cleavage upset her.

Draco accepted the congratulations of those who dared step up and speak to him. She saw the man named Merfin come forward and clasp his hand, her eyes narrowed as Draco's lip curled before he smiled at the dark man. Draco stopped before the high table, said a few guarded words to his brother no one else could hear, and then turned to the crowd. With a smirk that froze her lungs, he snapped his fingers. The tables filled with food as those assembled waited for their king to sit. Once he took his elevated chair at the center of the long high table, looking down on all those around him, the other guests sat, filling the room with excited murmurings.

XXXX

Jareth had lost his patience with these gatherings centuries ago when he left Navarre. The real politics took place behind the scenes, never on the dance floor and only occasionally in the smoking rooms. Political players were more likely to intimidate each other and steal each other's dance partners. They were all children sometimes. And he was too much a stoic to enjoy long expensive celebrations of the finer foods, wines, fashion and women. Or perhaps he told himself that because he had been so unceremoniously cast out when his father gave him domain over the Labyrinth to get him out of the way. He was king of a glorified prison. He knew his father meant to remove the more politically inclined younger brother before he made a fool of his less accomplished heir. To rule the underground, his father utilized iron willed strength and tradition, not guile. And primogeniture still dominated.

He watched Draco cross the floor towards the high table, the insane happiness of their younger days threatening to break free of his authoritative veneer. He saw his brother's ice blue eyes flick over Sarah- saw too much appreciation. Jareth took a moment to admire his handiwork before growing overly protective. She did not look like quite a child in that dress; perhaps the humans were right in saying that every gray cloud really had a silver lining. Lyja and Shel deserved some credit for destroying the other gown in their so-called-rebellion. The burgundy brought out Sarah's eyes. Judging by the way she'd shivered when he walked past he could pride himself on that bit of seduction. At least now, surrounded and dressed like the queen she would be, she felt the uncomfortable connection between them.

She scrutinized Draco constantly, evaluating his every detail. Jareth hoped his brother did not notice her lingering eyes. The high king wouldn't need any more permission.

XXXX

"What do you think?" the young man, one of his brother's wannabe lackeys simpered as he sat down, obviously thrilled to merit the second table.

"It's a lovely party," Jareth let just the right amount of sarcasm lilt into his voice. "Very gay."

"We do not need to pretend that you're enjoying yourself," Merfin cut in. "After all, you are losing all chances of the high kingship tomorrow. The party is a iron nail in the coffin. Congratulations." He offered his glass to Jareth in a mocking toast across the divide between them; the Goblin King surprised him by accepting; their glasses clinked merrily together. Jareth allowed his distaste to curl his lip.

"But I am," he said simply.

"Looking on the bright side, are you? Very noble."

Jareth grinned savagely. "You could not know what I want. Or what makes me happy."

"And you wish only for my eternal happiness, and that my death will return you to the royal line," a cool voice surprised hissed into Jareth's ear a split second after he braced himself in expectation. "Ever the good brother."

"Draco," Jareth said, turning congenially to his mirror twin. "I've missed your sense of humor." It was half true. "I've missed your condescension," Jareth said, making every show of caring. They shook hands like brothers should.

"I must make the rounds, but mayhaps if you keep acting so divinely submissive, we'll discuss the Aubergene," Draco said with the tone of a child pulling the legs off an insect, or dangling a hooked worm in front of a fish. "You'd make a better king then Metagon."

Jareth clenched his jaw, curving his mouth into a painful smile, "I am afraid I will not jump to steal my sister's lands from her, but I thank you for the offer."

"My king," Draco prompted.

Jareth gritted his teeth; Merfin laughed. "My king," he repeated.

"Jareth!" The cheerful voice sliced through Draco's next cutting remark as his youngest sister trotted by the second table to his side. In her eagerness to see him she moved at an almost improper pace, her skirts flowing wildly about her legs. "All this time away and you did not even come and see me before the formal soiree? Shame!"

Normally, he would not make any affectionate or unbusinesslike gesture in Draco's presence, nor any of his vultures, but for Lindel he made a small exception. And he could feel Sarah's eyes on him. As she came to his side he pulled his sister to him, hands on her waist and spun her about. "I am sorry Lindel; it shall never happen again." He smirked at the shock on Sarah's face halfway across the ballroom.

"On your honor?" she teased.

"Of course . . ."

"Enough now, he has no honor," his eldest sister cut in, sitting down in the chair beside his. Draco held it for her instead of her husband, obviously bemused by the other man's confusion. "Behave yourself Lindel."

"Yes Ili," the girl said demurely, peering out from behind her delicate blonde lashes before slipping a devlish smirk at her brother and taking her seat."

"Delighted to see you too Ilillith."

"Isn't it wonderful to have our family together again? Really, we must do this more often." Draco caught Jareth's eye as he spoke, daring him to betray the menace behind the words.

"It would be wonderful, if Jareth did not always encourage such behavior in Lindel. She'll never find an eligible match." His sister Phaedra teased, looking long into her husband's eyes, a poor noble who was almost a commoner. He caressed her cheek fondly. "Perhaps then, he'll see about a match for himself."

"Never," Ilillith laughed coldly.

Her husband Silas covered her hand with his, "Of course, she wishes you the best of marital joy, she means to say."

"I'm pleased to see you too," Jocaster said, "Even if I do not have a snide remark worthy of you."

"But then," the company fell silent despite the soft voice, "what are snide remarks amongst family?"

Jareth smiled as his mother approached. She looked older then she had when he last saw her, but just as strong. He kissed her cheek customarily. "Hello mother."

"Glad you could join us Jareth. Draco, perhaps you should not keep your guests waiting any longer?"

Draco snapped his fingers and sat, beginning the feast, and Jareth thought, the end of all his dignity.

XXXX

Even if the maze of forks, soup spoons and strange foreign dishes had not already stirred Sarah into a terrified frenzy, the prospect of dancing with these people certainly did. Alexander calmly guided her through dinner, keeping her in line as concerned her silverware usage and her conversation with the kind old noble women seated by them. By the end of the meal, she began to feel a little less uneasy, but when he asked her to dance, her face paled. Initially, she refused- but between his kind smile, the saddened eyes of the oldest of the old fae crones, and her own desire to be something less of an introvert, even forced into this world, she accepted the third time he asked for her hand. Besides, they would not approach the high table. She deigned give Alexander her hand for one waltz, which, once she started quickly turned into several. The old women smiled at her each time she passed. As always, Alexander kept her entertained and secure. As promised, he kept them so far away from the high table that she could not see Jareth, which calmed her nerves considerably.

She was in the middle of laughing when an involuntary icy shiver ran up her spine. Goose pimples erupted over every inch of her skin. She could feel breath on her neck, hot against her cool skin. "May I cut in?"

His hand took her waist forcefully, despite the heavy satin and petticoats of her dress she could feel his thumb stroking the bone of her hip. Her breath caught vulnerably in her throat; she looked to Alexander for help. The expression on his face did nothing to comfort her. "Really your majesty . . . ," he began, composed as ever despite the worry that manifested only in his blue eyes.

Draco rounded on her, giving Alexander no choice but to step out of the way. Sarah bit her lip and forced herself to raise her eyes from his chest to meet his gaze. She wished she hadn't. "I know she's Jareth's new pet. But she's a very pretty pet, and he owes me." His hand descended to cup Sarah's rear and pull her to him. She yelped without thinking; no one had ever touched her there, like that, like chattel. He raised an eyebrow at her and pinched; she bit her lip.

Alexander caught her eye. Silently he told her that there was nothing he could do. He could not refuse the next high king a dance partner, unwilling though she might be. Sarah did not dare look around at the crowd. Alexander nodded to her and bowed to Draco, then disappeared into the swirling dancers.

"What is your name?" Draco drawled, soothingly circling his fingers over the spot where he had hurt her.

She itched to escape his touch, but with his other hand pinned talon-like between her ribs she realized the impossibility. She drew a deep breath, "I'm Sarah."

He slid his hand up her torso over her shoulder and down her arm to take her hand; he wasn't wearing gloves. Her nostrils flared. "So you are indeed the one who solved his Labyrinth. Your kind are rare," he grinned with those sharp teeth. "The clever ones are always feisty."

With his rough grip, Sarah had not noticed that they'd begun to circle the floor. She lost all awareness of her feet. She locked eyes with him, calling on all her strength just to keep from quivering. His glacial blue eyes bored into her, undressing her, doing horrible things to her, things beyond her imagination, bending her body, breaking her. She wanted to tear her eyes away before she lost herself, but Draco held her, trapped.

She forced herself to ignore his hands. The one on her waist sought his way up to her breasts, back down to her behind. He touched her face, leaned down, approaching to kiss with his sharp mouth. If only she could stop breathing and just die before it began. . .

And then he was there. A lighter touch replaced Draco's choking grip. Vaguely, she heard Jareth whisper, "She's mine. Mine," but she was only aware of Draco's departure.

"Sarah, Sarah," Jareth murmured, burying his fierce fury under the calm he knew she need. "Look at me," he ordered gently. Tentatively she raised her face to his, afraid to get trapped in his eyes the way she'd been in his brothers. Tears streaked her cheeks. "Do not let anyone see you weak," he said. "Do not let them see you cry." He offered his hand. "You're going to dance with me now." She paled, about to refuse, to run and burst into inconsolable weeping. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, sheltering her, cocooning her. She gave to him, softening, relaxing against him without a second thought, resting her forehead on his chest. Somewhere, dimly in the back of her mind she noticed that his smell seemed familiar. He held her there for a long moment, ashamed of his delight despite her distress. "Just follow my lead Sarah, look me in the eye and follow my lead. Imagine I'm the only one here."

She swallowed, and then gave him a tiny almost insignificant nod. He took her hand as if handling a baby bird; slowly, he rested his opposite hand on her waist as innocently as he could. He wondered if he should sing, but remained silent. Their eyes connected as he began the dance, leading strongly but without force. He studied her pupils, relieved at the calm, the lack of hostilities between them.

Despite his attention to her he eventually evaluated the other guests with stray spare bits of consciousness; few noticed or cared about Draco's conquests. His status as High King allowed him to have anything he wanted and they expected a strong king to demand and take it. Only a few of the older women sitting at her old table seemed concerned, but now they were watching the pair with fondness in their eyes. Let them see, he thought. He could raise this girl to any status he chose, let them accustom themselves to her on his arm.

Draco chose other victims, those willing to make sacrifices for political gain. Jareth and Sarah whirled around the floor until people stopped staring and allowed them to be just another couple. They floated along in the dance like fish in a stream, content with the world, in harmony with each other. The song came to a slow lingering end. "Feeling a little better?" he asked, squeezing her hand gently.

She blinked away the tears, willing her eyes to dry. With the gentleness of his grip she'd forgotten she was still holding his hand. She took a slow deep breath, trying to compose herself, but she suddenly noticed his eyes as if for the first time. "Jareth," she whispered in a wide-eyed muddle of entrancement and confusion, "Your eyes, they're…different."

His heart warmed a little at the sound of his name on her lips, reminding him with a pang that he did indeed have one. He couldn't remember any other time before when she used it. He smiled, "Mismatched, I know."

"But your family, they all have blue eyes. Every last one." Sarah pulled her hand out of his and reached up to touch his cheek.

"That's right." He stopped breathing, remained perfectly still to encourage her touch, fought not to laugh at her mesmerized eyes and strange behavior. But oh, he could endure it forever. "The family resemblance is rather striking, is it not?"

Suddenly, she blushed with embarrassment, snatched her hand back and turned away from him. "Well, why don't yours match?" she asked self-consciously.

His eyes twinkled as he offered her his arm. "Let's go out and get some air, shall we? I'll tell you a story."

She nodded, slowly threading her arm through his with cheeks covered in the brightest pink.


	20. All through the Night Part II

Authors Notes:

Well. Don't expect closure. This is the end of part I, which was supposed to be titled "Descent." It's the longest chapter I've yet written. I was going to write ya'll a long note. Then I got lazy.

Persephone 20

All Through the Night

Part II

Previously:

Suddenly, she blushed with embarrassment, snatched her hand back and turned away from him. "Well, why don't yours match?" she asked self-consciously.

His eyes twinkled as he offered her his arm. "Let's go out and get some air, shall we? I'll tell you a story."

She nodded, slowly threading her arm through his with cheeks covered in the brightest pink.

XXXX

They stood on the balcony away from the party, drinking in the chill night air, together in more than simple proximity. "We fae heal slowly, despite all our powers," he began, "you must understand that." She nodded, staring off across the rings of Navarre.

"When we were boys, Draco and I were educated together…"

She brightened a little, amused by his story-telling tone. "How long ago was that?" It seemed strange to tease the Goblin King, but she wasn't entirely sure she didn't like the idea.

"In your years I presume?"

"Yes," she nodded. She pulled lightly on his arm and he granted her release.

"Not telling. As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted," he chided, clearing his throat. She made a face at him before hiding her eyes. "My brother and I studied together. One day in our geometry class…"

"You took geometry?" she snorted, "it seems so mundane for a mythical world."

"I take it you did not like geometry," she shook her head no and he continued with considerably more sarcastic mirth in his voice. "Even mythical worlds have shapes and relationships my dear."

"I suppose," she said, turning back to stare out at the lights of the city.

"I liked geometry. My brother did not. Granted however that Draco has never cared for any academic subject in his long life."

"This story is about your eyes?" she asked, caught between confusion and amusement.

"Yes. Be quiet and listen. I suppose you were terribly ill behaved at library story hours as a child," he patted her hand on the balcony rail.

She stayed still, looked at him, but did not flinch away. "I wanted to tell the story myself. Mrs. Pierce the librarian always said I was a delight and a terror."

He retreated, holding his hands squarely behind his back and looking over her shoulder. "An accurate assessment I'm sure, one which still holds true." She smiled; despite his certainty that he saw her embarrassment, she still looked coy. Jareth cleared his throat again. "At the time, Draco and I were fighting over a girl; I won and he became exceptionally angry."

"I thought you said you were young, a kid," she uttered the word with sheer disbelief.

"All things are young at some time Sarah, do not act so appalled," he replied, ever amused by her strange ideas. "And even the young have desires," he grinned. "I believe I kissed the girl's cheek once, but she was just a passing fancy."

"Oh," she hid behind her long desirable lashes.

"In his youthful fury, Draco stabbed my eye with his geometry stylus." Sarah grimaced in sympathy, covering her mouth with her hands. "Indeed. The pupil dilated as you see and the color changed. Once it had healed I decided I liked the mark."

"You could have healed it perfectly?"

"But I did not."

"Setting yourself apart?"

"Yes."

"I see," she said, studying his face again.

He leaned down to her, wishing she would allow him to taste her lips, but not daring. Thus far in their relationship, one civil conversation was more likely the harbinger of doom than amiability; he knew he deserved no thanks in her rescue, not when he himself placed her in danger. "Very funny," he whispered, feeling her studious gaze once more and reveling in her attention while it lasted like the sun warming his skin.

"Are you all right?" Sarah recognized Alexander's voice immediately as he strode out to the balcony, even uncharacteristically sharp with worry. "My dear I'm so dreadfully sorry, but there was nothing I could do . . ."

Jareth had never been angrier with anyone as he was with Alexander at that moment. Sarah turned away from him to the older man, took his offered hand and squeezed it in reassurance. Jareth met his friend's eye with a telling stare, but allowed no emotion into his body or voice, "She is fine Xander. I have the situation well in hand and will call for you when needed," he said in a clipped tone. "Dismissed."

Alexander smiled, scarcely taken back and slipped Sarah's hand through Jareth's arm. The girl glanced between their faces, knowing something had passed between them, but not sure just what. Nevertheless, she let her hand linger on the Goblin King's elbow. When Jareth caught her eye a different sort of shiver passed up her spine. "Alexander, you should stay," she said with a quaver in her voice, suddenly uncomfortable being alone with the king.

Alexander didn't need to see his lord's signal to know he was unwanted. He inclined his head to Sarah with a knowing half smile. "I'm sorry my dear, but I'm expected in the smoking rooms and must keep up appearances. Jareth your majesty," he added the title for mocking color, "you're also expected soon." He winked at Jareth and disappeared.

"Smoking rooms? Smoking is nauseating, it gives you cancer," she erupted as soon as Alexander shimmered out of sight.

He caught her arm gently before she could snatch her hand away. Keeping her at his side, he turned back to look out at the city. "As thrilled as I am by your concern for my health, I assure you, we rarely indulge, and never longer then the proper amount required to waylay boredom by healing ourselves."

"You smoke so you can waste time healing yourselves?" She tugged on his arm for freedom again.

He relaxed his grip for a split second before pulling her back. "More or less. Not that it is not pleasurable. The fae live for pleasure and wastes-of-times." He studied the details of her face, noting the glare in her eyes and slight upturn of the corners of her mouth.

"That's disgusting. Not to mention a little sick."

"Pleasure is not disgusting, neither is fulfilling one's need for it." Judging by the look in his eyes Sarah wondered for a moment if he might really be discussing something else besides smoking. "I'll let you try at home sometime if you like," he continued, releasing her abruptly and ignoring her revulsion to amuse himself. "Ladies do not smoke in public settings."

She decided not to correct him about the location of her home or harass him about his choice of words. "No thanks," she whispered.

XXXX

"My name is Cosette," said the fair skinned young woman beside whom Adele placed Sarah before drifting amongst the other women. All the ladies from the ball gathered together in the intimate sitting room, gossiping and bargaining. Cosette smiled with the corners of her mouth, but the light did not reach her dark brown eyes. In Sarah's judgment, they seemed about the same age; she felt an immediate kinship despite the other girl's odd air. And she knew she needed a friend in this crowd. Adele was kind, but she knew too much of the world to let Sarah feel truly equal.

"I'm Sarah," she replied, taking the young woman's hand and shaking it. Cosette's eyes widened at the strange gesture; she laughed hollowly. "Pleased to meet you."

"I wanted to meet you when I saw you dancing with his Majesty the Goblin King. I thought, perhaps we would have something in common…." Sarah thought hard; the name clicked as Cosette continued to speak. She recalled what Jareth told her or implied in snippets of conversation: Draco's fancy of the moment, mother of his bastard child, dutifully sacrificed by her parents in hopes of political gain…her cheeks paled as she reconsidered Cosette's comparison. "But then I realized," Cosette continued unaware of Sarah's musings, "you've seen whole other worlds, the labyrinth and aboveground…"

"To me," Sarah said simply, pained by the girl's dreamy tone, "this is the magical world." She smoothed the satin of her gown to busy her hands, hoping they wouldn't give away her discomfort.

Cosette nodded, "I suppose the new and different is most exciting. I'd like to explore and travel more. Still, I miss my country home."

"What was it like?" Sarah asked, guiltily enjoying someone else's troubles. The faraway look in the other girl's eyes pained her as she told tales of apple orchards, sweet heather and meadows. At first, Sarah couldn't imagine such calm natural beauty Underground, but the way Cosette assured her made her want to see the place with her own eyes. Slowly, the conversation turned from polite small talk to guarded inquiry.

"How long have you been with his Majesty?" Cosette asked conversationally.

Sarah stiffened, "Been with? What do you mean? I…" she searched for a verb before continuing, "…came Underground about two months ago, I think." She gazed absent mindedly at an aged noble woman's mole while contemplating Einstein and the relativity of time. Had Toby's birthday come yet? Did the sun rise and set the same way above and below? Had someone missed her, or called the police? How many times had her father cried?

"I'm sorry; have I troubled you?" her new friend asked, full of concern. Her voice dropped to a whisper, "He isn't,…cruel to you? His brother can be very domineering."

Sarah pursued her lips, uncomfortable with the amount of considering simple conversation suddenly required. She opened her mouth slowly, "They are very similar."

Cosette nodded, "I'm grateful for my baby now. His Majesty is thrilled, and gentler for his joy."

A hard lump formed in Sarah's throat; she swallowed hard, wondering if she'd severely underestimated. She could see hope in Cosette's eyes, desperate hope for a future with less pain. Cosette was not Draco's wife. Sarah could not see love, but rather a desire to please the man for her own salvation. Sarah had never feared for her personal safety, even when her Jareth dashed her dignity and freedom on the rocks. He abused her to be sure, but not like that. In a sudden flash, she pitied the other girl from the depths of her soul. She searched for a comforting word to say. "Then I'm happy for you too," spilled awkwardly from her mouth.

"Oh, how I've been longing and pining to meet you, even if my sisters are boring and refuse to come socialize," a cheery voice interrupted as the fine willowy blonde Sarah recognized as the High Princess Lindel sauntered to their corner to meet them, ignorant of the dying moment. She sat down and snatched Sarah's hand, clasping her hand and giving it a gaudy shake that suggested a lack of familiarity with the gesture. "Do they really do that Aboveground? So common and vulgar, but I really rather enjoy it."

"Yes," Sarah stammered with a side glance at Cosette, "Yes, they do."

"I should introduce myself, even though you _should _know who I am," Lindel sat down; her jewel toned skirts fanned around her. The satin trapped Sarah on the couch. "You can just call me Lindel…"

"Do not just, Your Majesty," Cosette intruded quietly; Sarah silently thanked her for the social save.

"But I really do wish her to," Lindel pleaded with an earnesty Sarah strangely found she didn't doubt. "I would like to have some friends who do not bow and scrape. And if you hang about with my brother, Mi'_Lady_ Sarah, you should know well how to contest authority."

Sarah swallowed to eradicate the quaver in her voice. Consciously, she straightened her spine, pulled her stomach in and stopped fighting the constricting corset. The regal posture made her feel slightly more even with this regal chatterbox. "I don't really 'hang about' with him, . . ." she began.

"He told me the whole story you know," Lindel started again. "How you returned to him timidly, but he convinced you to stay on his arm. He praises your potential…"

Sarah's throat tightened, and then it was her turn to interrupt. "That's his story? He tricked me!"

"I told you, I know that," Lindel repeated. Cosette wrung her hands in her lap, looking this way and that, hoping no one had noticed the embarrassing level of her companion's voices. Sarah hoped so too, but she focused on Lindel's hear-say account. None of the girls noticed Adele's eyes on them as the dove softly took in their conversation. "I told you what he said. I did not say I could not see through his act," Lindel added with a touch of indignation. "I know my brother."

"Do you care to clarify?" Sarah asked, figuring that the princess would accept a little testiness if she really wanted friends who didn't fear authority.

Lindel smiled and patted Sarah's hand. "I heard the sense behind the words; I saw his eyes while he was dancing with you. I could not help but watch. I miss my brother dearly, and I want him to be happy," she drew a rare breath. Sarah separated her tongue from the roof of her mouth. "He's fast falling in love with you." Cosette made a tiny, nearly in-audible whining noise in the back of her throat.

As Lindel stared appealingly at her, the smile rosy on her face, Sarah took one quick moment to collect her reeling thoughts. "Then he doesn't know how to show that," she said slowly. "You can't expect a prisoner to fall in love with you." Lindel nodded thoughtfully and opened her mouth to launch into another idealistic-romantic tirade. Sarah imagined they would have been fast friends before she had permanently entered the Underground. She had been so full of dreams and pillow stuffings then. She cut the princess off before she could begin, and felt a little proud of the achievement. "Look, I hardly know you, and this subject is a little serious, if not a tad personal."

Lindel blushed. "Well, yes," she whispered, "I know that."

Sarah glanced between the princess and Cosette. She dropped her head to her chest, before raising it with a wicked glint in her eyes. "Maybe we should talk about fashion, movies and makeup before we talk about boys?" she teased, hoping they would understand the sentiment if not the rhetoric.

"I do not understand…" Cosette replied tentatively. Lindel looked curiously at them both.

"Well," Sarah took a deep breath, "let's start simply then. What's your favorite color and why?"

Cosette remained worried, but Lindel giggled a little. She daubed her nose with her handkerchief. "I suppose I'd have to say yellow, like the golden sun and wheatfields…" she began. Thoroughly relieved, Sarah directed their discourse like a conductor for a few minutes before throwing caution to the winds and letting tangents flow freely. She found it both satisfying and exhausting to be a young girl again, especially when a certain king was far from her mind.

XXXX

"Sarah…" a lazy voice drawled from the doorway. In instantaneous unsynchronized bobs of silk, rouge and curls, all the women in the room looked up at the Goblin King. Then they turned their jealous gaze on her. She lowered her eyes. "Kindly bid everyone goodnight."

His manner overflowed with command despite his gentle voice. Torn as she was between the vultures and song birds in the assembly, Sarah did not hesitate to acquiesce. She wished Lindel or Cosette were near enough to rescue her, but they had split across the room. Once in his presence again, the old wave of nausea washed over her; she stared at his boots to steady herself. He took her arm.

"Shall we?" he did not really ask.

She nodded anyway.

They walked down the corridor in silence, listening to the echoes of their footfalls. Her slippers made soft airy sounds in quicker succession than the heavier clap of his boots. She lost her bearings completely as he led her through the twists and turns of the castle to a small garden. Sarah sucked the crisp night air in greedily.

Jareth let her go. She smelled the roses, picking one; he watched her. After a moment, he cleared his throat. "I wish to say that I am sorry my brother felt able to take such liberties," he said tersely. Sarah opened her mouth to speak, the constant outrage at his inconsistencies fresh on her lips, but he continued. "But I am not sorry I brought you here," he cut off her argument. He paused for dramatic effect, and to bask in the silence of her unspoken argument. "I have a gift for you Sarah."

She dropped the rose and stared at him in disbelief. The flower tumbled silently to the flagstone, spreading its scarlet petals. He extended a hand for hers, which she cautiously placed in his. "I don't like your presents," she retorted without her usual fire.

"This is a gift, not a present," he clarified simply. "Would you dance with me again?"

She looked around to find them drastically alone. "There isn't any music," she snapped, stiffening.

He closed his hand before she could pull away. With a little tug he brought her closer. His free hand itched to encircle her waist, but he restrained himself, not wanting to undo progress. "Sometimes my dear little Sarah, I worry that you have no imagination." She rolled her eyes, covering her discomfort with sarcasm; the corner of his mouth twitched. "But as you like. Here."

He held out his hand to her. A tiny white gold ring rested on the second knuckle of his pinky finger, diamonds sparkled around a ruby in stark contrast with the black leather of his glove. Sarah felt herself inhale, "I couldn't."

"Of course you could," he soothed, removing the dainty jewel from his own hand.

Her eyes narrowed, suddenly suspicious. "What does it mean?Is it going to do something to me?" she asked.

Jareth held the ring out to her. "Nothing not already known," he murmured. "Try it on."

She studied the reflection of her face in the ruby, wondering at the vagaries of his words. She bit her lip and refrained from asking what he meant, but she couldn't bring herself to slip the bauble onto her finger. "It's very beautiful, but I can't…" she whispered, looking up at him with confusion in her eyes.

"Try it on," he commanded, half smirking.

Tentatively, she slid the ring half way onto her right ring finger, but suddenly shoved it off before it passed her knuckle. Something electric and knowing filled the fluid band. "I can't…" she sputtered, pushing the ring back to him.

Jareth took her wrist with firm reverence, enclosing her small pale left hand in his right. "Sarah," he murmured, almost scolding, "I reserve the right to spoil you."

She swallowed cautiously as the Goblin King guided the exquisite ring onto her left ring finger, the symbolic line to her heart. A spark slithered from her fingertip through her heart, terminating in her throat and stealing her voice. Her heart wanted nothing to do with him, but his eyes told her that he meant something. "Thank you," she mouthed, feeling her trepidation in her words.

He waived his hand dismissively, took her arm and led her down the hall without acknowledgement of the symbolism, her gratitude or her discomfort.

XXXX

"Good evening Sophia," he said, guiding Sarah into the room. She glanced around, recognizing the gray haired woman who had dressed her for the evening and her trunks in the corner. Nothing else about the room seemed familiar. Sophia had dressed her in a small, bright white chamber; whoever decorated this room enjoyed more macabre elegance. Stepping out of her shoes, Sarah's bare feet sunk into the thick black carpet. She leaned against the engraved ebony door, fidgeting with the dark green tapestries to calm herself while she took in the room.

"My little Majesty," Sophia's face broke into a smile; she crossed the room in three lithe bounds, "It's been too long."

Jareth smiled thinly; Sarah thought she saw a touch of color in his icy complexion and recognized a twinge of embarrassment. She covered her mouth with one hand to hide her own smirk when Sophia dared give him a hug.

"Get a grip woman," he teased, "and let go of me."

Sophia kissed his hand and gave a sweeping curtsey. "Of course Majesty, what is it you're wanting tonight?" She looked to Sarah, seemingly for the first time, smiled knowingly at her and gave him a wink.

Jareth extended his hand and the girl stepped forward. Wondering when she'd become so obedient, she stood at his shoulder, but refrained from taking his hand. Nevertheless Sarah could feel his approving look, which made her feel a little ill. He instructed Sophia to prepare her for bed. "I'll return later this evening when the party dies down," he finished, addressing Sarah. "Do not wait up."

She knitted her brows together, wanting to question him, but Jareth had already taken her left hand, kissed it reverently behind her ring and vanished. Sarah stamped her foot in frustration. "Aggg," she growled.

"Stop that," Sophia scolded, obviously disappointed with her unladylike behavior. "Now, what shall we do with you?" she mused, circling Sarah studiously.

"Um, well…" Sarah tripped over her words, searching for an unobtrusive place to sit in her heavy gown. She chose the dark wood dressing table vanity, carved with great trees like the doors. But the idea of sitting in this great room with the King's ambiguous words looming over her immediately became too much. "I can get ready for bed myself, so long as I can find my things…" She padded over to her trunks, prying at the locks.

"Sit-down-you'll-chip-your-nails," Sophia chided in one long breath. "Honestly girl, we really will have to do something about these fingers of yours. You bite them, don't you?" Sarah nodded with shame, the same shame she'd felt since first grade, but Sophia continued without waiting for an answer, "Well, you'll have to stop. It won't please him."

"I don't care…" Sarah started.

Sophia guided her to sit back down at the dressing table without missing a beat. "Now," she studied Sarah in the mirror over her shoulder, "What shall we do with your hair? Normally, I'd say leave it for him to take out, an updo like that, it's a puzzle, an unfamiliar challenge for a clever man, but that will tangle when you go to bed and make a horrible mess before he returns. Do you think his Majesty would like curls?"

Sarah's eyes widened beyond the point of further expansion. Her pupils darkened; fear leaked into her voice. "Sophia, what are you talking about?"

"Now don't sound so proper," Sophia ignored the girl's concern and attacked the pins in her hair. "He's lonely, poor dear. Lonely and stressed. But we women, we do the best to care for him, don't we?"

The older woman squeezed her shoulder. Sarah's heart thudded against her chest like a caged bird. She swallowed the old fear, desperate not to loose control. "What are you talking about?" she repeated slowly.

"I want you to be perfect for him, he's waited so long. He's a picky picky man who wants more than simple beauty," Sophia smiled at the exquisite child as she let Sarah's hair down. She didn't want to flatter the girl's vanity anymore then necessary, simply because of the unnecessary shame in spoiling the little goddess with compliments. "You make a good match," she added casually.

Sarah's resolve cracked as her hair fell around her face. Sophia picked up a brush to smooth the chocolate strands. "I'm not," she choked out, "I'm not some sort of, of prostitute." After weeks underground, she had nearly negated her first and strongest fear. She prayed that she'd be able to reason with him, or beg or trade him something else to escape that kind of servitude.

"Of course not," Sophia replied gently. "He has great plans for you. He likes you," she patted the girl's left hand, smiling at Jareth's ring. Sarah breathed a tiny sigh of relief. "But as I said, he is very lonely."

Sarah felt every ridge of her throat as she swallowed, staring at herself in the mirror. "I see," she squeaked out. So he wanted sexual services after all. Well, he could kidnap her, torment her and dress her as provocatively as he wanted. She noticed the sweeping cleavage of her small bosom that she had almost liked with a bitter taste in her mouth. She bit down hard on the inside of her lip. She'd panicked about all his talk of queen hood, wivery and weddings, but those conditions had granted her time to refuse or escape…not that she knew how. They said men liked to defile virgins.

"We operate behind closed doors here, despite our traditions, so no one really minds," Sophia explained as she set the hair brush aside. "Everyone knows."

Sarah debated her options. If she couldn't beg her way out…there was nothing else at hand to offer. Maybe he would consent to give her time to accustom herself to the idea. She did not want pain. She knew she had no particular skill at putting him into good humor. Sophia was asking her something… "I suppose you could try the curls," she said tentatively, rubbing her temples.

The warm rods on her head and a hearty dose of chamomile tea helped steady her. Once Sophia finished, her hair fell in loose chocolate ringlets down her back. Her hair took curls surprising well despite its intense straightness. If she had not been so worried, she would have loved the look. Sophia found a beautiful, deceptively innocent white night gown, covered in soft eyelet lace. Sarah tried not to think of the symbolism. Sophia tended her nails and smoothed perfumed creams into her skin. Over two hours of primping later, Sophia finally claimed to be satisfied. Sarah had never felt so pampered or so worried.

To some small comfort, she discovered Lancelot in her trunk and privately thanked Gilda, the only one who could have packed him. Lancelot stayed tucked firmly under her arm despite Sophia's disapproval as she slipped between the warmed deep green satin sheets. The ebony bed dwarfed her bed at the Goblin King's castle, which was itself a far cry from her comfortable twin bed at home. She paddled in the deceptively caressing sheets like a child fighting to stay above water.

"His majesty doesn't want a toy bear in his bed," Sophia tried again. "He wants you."

"Lancelot stays with me," Sarah said firmly despite a niggling yawn, clinging to the stuffed animal as her only safety net. The room echoed around her. She begged Sophia to leave the candles lit and tried to read for over an hour. Instead, she found herself studying the dark wood wall carvings by the flickering candle light or staring into the ruby stuck on her left hand. The strategy worked better than sheep she thought, given the circumstances. She never noticed when she fell asleep hours later, lightly on her stomach, Lancelot hard against her chest.

XXXX

He thought she looked exquisitely _right_, stretched serenely in the exact middle of his bed. Her hair fanned over her shoulders in a mass of curls; Sophia, he smirked. He smelt a faint lavender perfume. The curve of her neck beckoned above the inky lagoon sheet pulled up to her chin. The massive ebony frame and dark emerald satin should have dwarfed Sarah, but she exuded an aura of power even while sleeping. Her presence filled the space around her with every rise and fall of her chest.

Then again, the whole room felt small to Jareth. Glancing around his old sleeping chambers, he noted that his mother had not changed anything since he left Navarre. He smiled down at Sarah, wondering how disgusted or intrigued she would be studying what was essentially the room of his teenage years. His sensibilities were less gothic then, he noted.

Without the aid of consciousness, she felt the satin lift daintily off her hip, sliding smoothly against her skin. Her mind screamed awake but Sarah forced herself to lie still and take deep silent breaths. She could feel her lip quivering as the mattress dipped lightly under the weight of another- the Goblin King had finally come to take her. She bit her offending lip hard, but a soft yelp escaped her mouth anyway. His mirth swelled so thickly through the room that she could taste it. The sheet raised over her side as he neared. The air beneath the blankets felt hot and dangerous on her skin and the satin that once felt comfortably caressing now seemed as cool and clammy as the proverbial snake.

"Sarah?" he murmured quietly.

She remained silent, stiffening and trying to arrange words in her dry throat. She knew that his touch was inevitable. "Please…" she began.

"Shhhh," he chided. "There will be none of that." He reached towards the warmth of her body; his fingertips grazed her hip.

Sarah flinched in on herself, pulling her knees against her chest. He discovered the strangely matted toy clutched in her arms as he gathered her to him. He plucked it from her arms and with one grimace, threw the bear to the floor. "Lancelot!" she clamored.

"There is no place for a toy bear in my bed," he said calmly.

Her composure evaporated as Sophia's words echoed through her mind once more. "Please….Please don't…you can't. I'm supposed to…" she tried again.

"Sarah, calm down," he ordered, wrapping his arm around her waist and gathering her back against his body. Expecting to find her flimsy nightgown pressed against his virile naked flesh, the soft fabric he was wearing did little to comfort her growing hysterics. As she felt her body brush his pelvis, she began thrashing and babbling unintelligible things in shouts and cries. Jareth wrapped her arms in one of his and entwined a restraining leg through hers. He held her tightly as she recovered her breathing. "What, pray tell was that?" he asked softly.

"Let me go," she pressed her eyes shut, hoping to blot out the world and the undeniably intimate position. "Please just let me go."

"No."

"I can't..I can't breath." His breath warmed her neck.

"Yes," he remarked with a thin lipped smile, "You can." He could feel the fear in her eyes even though she could not look at him. "Will you at least promise not to kick me?" he asked, gently loosening his hold. "It is not particularly ingratiating."

"Please don't _touch _me," she begged. She reached for his hand, hoping to placate him by showing her trust and to gain some physical purchase she could use to fight him off. Her frantic fingernails pricked tiny half moons into his skin.

"Sarah," he drawled, capturing her hand and rubbing her cool palm with his thumb. "I will not touch you any more than I am now." On second thought and desire to stay true to his word throughout the night, he shifted his weight, tightening his hold and moving protectively over her. He felt her flinch as her behind contacted his pelvis again. "Or perhaps now," he said, hoping she couldn't hear the wicked grin in his voice.

"I'm not some sort of prostitute, am I?" she pleaded instead, twisting in an attempt to meet his dangerous gaze.

"I would kiss you," he murmured as their faces neared.

She evaded his mouth, "Am I?"

He would not, could not, give her anything but a straight answer, he thought. "No my dear darling Sarah. I would not have kept my brother from you if I thought of you like that." He loosened his grip to find and clasp her left hand. "But you are beholden and betrothed to me now."

Any other time she would have demanded details about her betrothal, but her mind could only think of avoiding imminent rape. "Sophia said what happens behind closed doors…"

"Never mind what Sophia told you," he smoothed a hand through her hair, parting the curls into softer waves. The gesture frightened the voice out of her. "Be still, breath, feel," he instructed, "I will take excellent care of you." He locked eyes with her as he laid her on her back. Jareth took a deep breath, afraid of his dreams. "Now, may I kiss you?" he asked in all seriousness.

Perhaps she could find a way to like it and save herself the pain. She thought of Brent and how uncomfortably happy she'd always felt in his most innocent embrace. But the Goblin King was far far more than a first boyfriend. He wanted things. She nodded imperceptibly, doubting that her compliance really mattered. His harsh lips brushed delicately against her forehead.

He held himself half way over her, resting on his elbows, stroking her hair or her temple. He noted that she wasn't shaking and gratefully pressed his lips against hers. She gasped; he smiled. Sarah had trusted him before; she could trust him. He could show her so many things, but for tonight, if he could kiss her, hold her, keep her safe in his arms…that was enough- enough to keep Navarre's demons at bay.

An electric spark passed between their mouths. When she opened her mouth to gasp, he captured her upper lip reverently in his. Sarah pinned her eyes closed. His hand crept under her head, cradling her skull and trapping her in his kiss. When he wanted to be gentle, he could stroke a songbird, lulling it long enough to steal its freedom. He seemed a different man again; he was made of so many conflicting facets. While dancing with him, she almost felt something, perhaps affection for her captor, Stockholm's syndrome or whatever it was. She could not deny his perilous beauty, but then he would turn dangerous and cruel. Evil. He slid his tongue over her lower lip; she shivered.

Jareth penetrated her mouth with a little thrill of personal triumph. Capturing one wrist at a time, he guided her hands to his back. She clung passively, but he could feel a tiny whiff of her tension escape with the ounce of control granted. With painstakingly slow caresses, Jareth sought out her evasive tongue. He felt goose pimples spread over her arms. His joy knew no bounds.

A sliver of moist heat sparked between her legs, the way that had embarrassed her when Brent kissed her so long ago. She knew what it meant and swallowed in relief that despite her terror, her body at least would make some effort to protect her. She slowly lost control of her breathing; his tongue danced across hers. His hair tickled her face. She felt the pull of each strand as he fingered through her curls before returning to caress her forehead. Tentatively, her hands crept up and down his shoulders, thinking about how to throw him off, but she felt his pleasure in his perception of her small acceptance. In its own small way, excitement leaked in and mingled with her fear before being swallowed. He was pressing her down now; she felt his weight on her chest. She couldn't scream…, and then suddenly, he stopped.

Jareth raised himself up over the girl, his lips left hers. His elbows pinned Sarah down protectively. "Get out," he hissed. "She belongs to me."

Sarah opened her eyes degree by degree and saw a tall man, glinting red, standing over Jareth's shoulder. Draco. He looked down at her, ignoring Jareth's threat, his face full of appreciation. His mouth hung hungrily open, the tongue appeared forked in the dim light. His eyes hunted her, the same way they had threatened when he danced with her but stalking so much closer. He stood poised and ready to intrude and tear her to pieces. Sarah's breath caught in her throat. "You never liked to share," the king

"Get out," Jareth repeated with deadly suggestion. He pressed his lips to Sarah's to prove his point, veritably drowning her in his embrace, but as she struggled to stay above water she kept her eyes open, watching the high king. He walked towards then, approaching and resting one knee lazily on the coverlet. Sarah drew herself down underneath Jareth, willing herself to turn invisible. She took some small measure of comfort in his palms on either side of her face and deep in her stomach she recognized the ripple of Jareth's magic mixing with her horror. Reluctantly, from mere inches away, Draco smoked out of sight.

Jareth held the kiss a mere moment after Draco left, forcing his own sliver of protective fear to wither in pleasure. Then he sat up to fortify his wards on the room and make them stronger than his brother's. A moment later, he looked over his shoulder to find Sarah huddled on the opposite corner of the bed. He reached out to her, but she swatted his hand away.

"Was he going to…." she tremored.

"Yes," Jareth said, extending his naked hand.

"And you?" her eyelashes flickered rapidly, silky and slick as she tried to blink away tears. "Now, you're going to say that you abuse me to protect me? You would have," she couldn't say the word and swallowed hard, "done just the same."

Jareth sighed. "Not ever," he said softly, speaking his own brand of twisted truth, "not when I am trying to earn your trust. Your affection." His eyes bored into hers across the bed.

"I will never have any affection for you," she snarled, quickly loosing her composure. "And if this is your way of earning my trust….,"

Her words hurt, provoked his anger. "Enough." He knew how wrong he was, but would never admit it. Lightening fast as a deadly snake he lunged across the bed and took her wrist. "You need to sleep and affection or not, you need my protection. Come here." She half accepted the cradle of his embrace as he snatched her; she simply had no where else to go. He looked imploringly down into her eyes with his palms framing either side of her face. "I will force a great many things from you," he said slowly, accelerating his tone towards a snarl, "but not that one. Not ever. I am the black antithesis of a hero, but I like to think, that I have a heart, and that I am not such a monster, because such illusions comfort me. Now lie down."

She refused. Their eyes locked and flared as he took her shoulders. They stared into the depths of each others pupils as he lowered her to the pillow. Her head sunk down; her sable locks fanned around her face. Jareth lay down beside her on his side with one arm resting lightly across her stomach, poised to tighten his embrace once she chose a sleeping position.

Turning her head, Sarah found herself studying his face in a very different light than she had at the ball, and yet, they were the somehow connected. She lowered her gaze. "I want Lancelot back," she said evenly, returning her eyes to his. "Please get him for me or let me go do so."

"Sarah, do not be ridiculous…" he began.

"Get him," she repeated. "If you're going to be evil, the least you can do is let me have my bear, something to comfort myself…"

"I'll comfort you plenty."

"…Whom you _threw_ on the _floor_."

"_Which_," Jareth grumbled, his breath warm against her ear. "_Which_ I threw on the floor."

"Please?" she forced herself to find a neutral, genuine tone.

Irritated, but unyieldingly apologetic, he climbed out of bed and groped around on the floor for the dirty stuffed toy. Sarah took the time to breathe deeply and find a decent sleeping position as close to the edge of the bed as possible. She lay on her right side without closing her eyes. She bit her lip when he returned to bed.

"Here," Jareth murmured, extending the bear to her. Sarah snatched Lancelot back without a thank you. He didn't bother to correct her with more important battles afield. Slowly, he edged back against her, sneaking one soft kiss against her neck.

"Don't," she warned. His arms wrapped around her shoulders and her waist instead. His hair tickled her face as he discovered a way to rest his head atop hers. Sarah felt him swallow. He held her too tightly, but she'd survive. It was by far the lesser of two evils, both of them Jareth.

He waited while she fell asleep before even considering closing his eyes and found once again that he infinitely preferred holding her to long years of watching her sleep.


	21. Part II While Winter Reigned on Earth

Author's Note: And here's where the corner cutting begins. I was going to go on a long long tangent here- but I changed my mind because it's taken me three years to finish part I of this story, and it's going to have at least three more similarly sweeping parts. Theoretically. I keep messing with stuff. Anyhow, Part II 1 short odd chapter. I'd rather get more commentary on the work as a whole than this chapter, but any and all reviews make me happy.

Persephone

Part II: While Winter Reigned on Earth

22 HOURS

Sarah left a note for her parents that she gone to the movies with Brent after all. She told them his sister was watching Toby at her house, and that they would return in the morning. They would be angry, but she couldn't let them find their son gone. She chose not to think about what they might think if she disappeared.

XXXX

Toby woke up the next morning with a throbbing headache and ran into the spare bedroom just as he had always done. He stopped in the doorframe, studying the girly pink wallpaper and moldy peach carpet and suddenly realized that he had no reason to run into the spare bedroom at all. Strange. There was a memory lingering there. He shook his head violently but nothing came; his headache just got worse. Rubbing his eyes, he turned around and went down the stairs to breakfast.

"Sometimes, I wish I was still in school," his mother said while she flipped pancakes. "Once in a while, I just want an old fashioned vacation."

"A whole week of family day," his father agreed.

"That could make a person crazy. Are you feeling all right Toby?"

The little boy yawned. "Hungry."

"You fell asleep so early last night- I didn't want to wake you. Eat up now."

His father unfolded and re-folded his newspaper. "What are we going to do today slugger?"

"I don't know." The pancakes and maple syrup did wonders for his head. A moment later he forgot it had been hurting at all. He smiled at Karen with sticky cheeks.

"What do you want to do?"

"I think I have a make-believe I need to finish. That's right," he slurped out between mouthfuls.

Karen and Robert exchanged worried looks. While Toby seemed normal most of the time, he was awfully fixated on fairy stories. And while they wondered if they wouldn't have minded a little girl's fascination with the fantastical, imaginings didn't mesh with football. Ignorant to it all, Toby wiped his mouth on the table cloth before his mother could scold and ran back upstairs.

XXXX

There was a beautiful block maze spread across the sea blue carpet in his small room. It had taken hours to construct. But who was it for? He'd been playing with a special bear yesterday. The bear had only a short period of time to make it all the way through the maze, like a hero or a mouse or a small boy…the time limit corresponded precisely with the amount of time for which his mother had banished him. And there were plenty of traps, places where the blocks would fall down or GI Joes would suddenly attack in number. But the bear was missing.

Toby searched the room, looking high and low. He even checked the dirty clothes hamper, underneath the smelly gym socks. No bear.

He ran into the frilly pink guest room on his quest. He looked under the bed and in the closet. He couldn't find it anywhere.

He'd been searching for a stuffed toy. A brown one. Something special. Maybe his monkey from the DC zoo?

Returning to his own room, he found the monkey draped haphazardly on the foot of his bed, little Velcro arms wrapped tightly around the wooden frame. The monkey was just the right size to steer down the alleys of the maze. Toby snatched him up and returned to his blocks.

But the whole thing seemed slightly stupid now.

XXXX

In the middle of the night, his father woke up, climbed out of bed and stormed down the stairs. The police, he shouted, he needed to call the police. A disappearance! A crime! They needed to come right away.

His step mother bolted after his father, rubbing her eyes in hazy confusion. She found her husband holding the telephone in his hand, listening to the operator wailing, "If you'd like to make a call…"

His father apologized for the commotion, told Toby to go back to bed, and blamed the bad dream on the chocolate cheese cake he'd eaten that night before bed.

XXXX

And so the family forgot.

He didn't go to the theater for ten years after Linda left. And then suddenly, he bought tickets left and right. They made theater a regular family outing, whether performed by the high school or the reparatory company. Toby hated it. Karen usually slept. He wasn't sure why they made a habit of going.

The guest room was still frilly and pink. Someday, she'd get Robert motivated, visit Home Depot, pick paint and furniture and turn it into something marvelous. Something inspired like those design television shows. Karen tried hard to get creative, but the juices refused to flow. She couldn't bring herself to change the room.

Karen wished sometimes, for a daughter. She wasn't too old, she thought, to have more children. When she told Robert, he envisioned the child with long dark hair like his first wife, but he didn't mention that to his second.

XXXX

An outside observer would have said that Toby was trying to remember something he was supposed to forget. Sometimes, he thought there was a hole in his mind.

First he named stuffed animals Sarah, then the new hamster for his birthday Sarah, then the characters in his stories. He didn't know why the name was important; his parents worried because he was so un-original.

The other children at school wouldn't stop making fun of his imaginary friends. He hid Sarah to keep her from shame and stopped telling anyone about her.

He could never count his family correctly. Whenever he drew a family picture, there was always a momentary fourth face that shattered as soon as he pressed his crayons to paper.

And the stories. In the stories there was always a princess with long dark hair and sparkling eyes who held out her hand and showed him the way. She guided him like a beacon, but he could never see her.


	22. Transparencies

Author's Note: And so I lied. The next chapter is long and intensely JS; I've put a lot of time into it. This chapter by contrast, I just banged out in a very short period of time because it wouldn't let me alone and I wanted to throw something up before break. Keep in mind that this runs parallel to the beginning of the story.

Edit: Then I went to bed and decided I hated the format, prompting me to rewrite the format when I should be finishing my packing.

Persephone 22

Transparencies

The little boy was a special challenge. From the first night, every night months the King went to him in his sleep, because memories live in dreams, and dreams cannot be wiped clean. Not without killing the person. Careful selective removal required close examination and picking at tendrils of thought. He did not want the child to live in pain. He purified the boy's mind every night when the dark-haired girl threatened to return, took a moment from his duties to ensure the safety of his prize. Somehow, she always returned. He tried again and forced the sister's image into fantasy, which kept her contained enough to trust.

The king left the boy a gift in compensation; an intangible flair for luck, protection. The child would never know what he had given up in return. The parents that stifled her deserved no compensation. With an innocent, he was generous.

He watched the family, watched the little boy forget far in to the future and far into the past. Time was no small obstacle. While they slept, the King spun dreams to cover dreams and to mask them. He stared into crystal balls and watched a dark haired girl child come into the world,

babble,

take her first steps,

cut her hair herself to her mother's everlasting horror,

beg for a puppy,

throw wrapping paper on Christmas morning,

climb onto the bus for her first day of school,

play dress up with her mother's rouge and oversize heels,

loose a tooth and whistle through the hole,

skin her knee,

plead not to get braces,

refuse to leave her room when her mother left,

cry,

sell lemonade and Girl Scout cookies,

suffer a bee sting, quit gymnastics,

shout for joy when a sheep dog puppy appeared on her birthday,

hate her school picture because of her frizzy hair,

bring her father breakfast in bed,

scream when he proposed to someone else,

graduate eighth grade with pomp and circumstance,

take up the tuba for a single week before returning to clarinet,

rant to her friends about her baby brother,

jump in fallen leaves,

pout,

loose herself in fantasy,

play princess in the park,

run downstairs to hug her stepmother and recant her angry words late at night, experiment with mascara and spaghetti straps,

be told she was always too quiet or too loud,

holler all the way around the roller coaster then insist on doing it again,

star in her high school production of My Fair Lady,

cry about her SATs,

win a poetry contest,

curse the futility of college essays,

fall down drunk- but only once,

write her first novel one long November,

try sushi with utter disgust,

congratulate Toby on reading his first chapter book,

repaint her room black on a horrible whim and beg her father to help her repair it,

fail an exam,

ace a paper,

help Toby find Lancelot over and over again,

choose a prom dress,

swim in the ocean,

break her leg on the ice, smile in the sun,

tell Toby bedtime stories,

attempt stand up comedy,

pull her first all-nighter,

fight with Karen,

drink far too much coffee,

dance a slightly clumsy but provocative samba,

ski,

spend a ridiculous amount of money on a keepsake doll,

taste the wind,

plant a garden,

fall asleep in the lounge unprotected,

taste forbidden fruits,

pine for unrequited love,

write long letters home,

hug a boy she didn't really know,

temporarily die her hair red,

indulge in McDonald's,

augment her cleavage with a cocktail dress and strapless bra,

step on sidewalk cracks,

sell a select few of her toys in a yard sale with barely concealed anguish,

tell her father how grateful she really was,

buy her first car,

wait months to afford her insurance,

diet when she didn't need to,

dream about shaving her head only to wake up in a panic,

waltz,

feed New York City pigeons,

pretend to understand improvisational jazz,

become Dartmouth's salutatorian,

fall off a ladder,

plant flowers,

kick the broken hot water heater in her apartment,

cuddle a kitten,

give a man her phone number before he asked with a little half smile,

mourn a friend,

tease Toby about his first real girlfriend,

hope,

try Yoga,

ice skate on a pond,

babysit for free because she said she was too old,

lecture Toby on the importance of shaving for teenaged boys,

see RENT on Broadway…

He saw the emotions in her parent's eyes as they watched her grow, the joys and the sorrows, spun them into transparent glass and shattered them against the pavement. She belonged to him now.


	23. 3 The Frozen Princess:A Change in Tactic

Authors Note: After that reprieve, back to the JS torture. Here we begin part III, during which those who questioned my title may begin to re-see the parallel. Also added some spaces to the format- you can let me know if that's easier to read. I hope you enjoy, please read and review.

Persephone 22

PART III: The Frozen Princess

"A Change in Tactics"

A stream of hesitant light snuck through the dark drapes on the windows. The light tickled over Sarah's nose and illuminated her chocolate waves. She was curled around herself, the bear clutched against her chest. Jareth kissed her temple and smoothed a sprung curl off her forehead. She sighed softly in her sleep. He watched for movement of her eyes beneath the lids. Old tears stained the corners of her eyes. He knew she had cried herself to sleep; he hadn't let her go.

He promised the girl sleeping beneath him that he wouldn't push anymore. New tactics. He could wait patiently, allowing her to acclimate to his presence in her own time, neither advancing nor retreating. In the end, he would simply be the only one she could trust. Trapped in his world, she would depend on him for her safety.

Jareth's fingers brushed the soft hollow behind her neck; he smiled. She didn't stir; not yet. He wanted to shut out the waking light, but could not bring himself to leave her. Jareth tightened his arm around her waist and rewrapped his body around hers, encircling in her his warmth, her protective master.

XXXX

She woke in slow motion, curled in on herself. Fluttering open, her eyes settled on her knees as they peeked out beneath the flimsy lace nightgown. Sarah took a deep breath, strangely relieved by the expansion of her ribcage and delighting that she wasn't broken. Another deep breath; she was alone. Curioser and curiouser. She stretched cat-like out of fetal position and untangled herself from the sweaty sheets. Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she crossed to the window and pushed the drapes back, letting the warm light of a surprisingly high sun flood the room. Leaning on the sill, she wished she could see the city from her window.

"He let you sleep awfully late," a dimly familiar voice scolded. Sophia, Sarah's mind chimed to remind her of last night's half-waking dream. She turned to face the old woman, who held her hands squarely on her hips with a maternally sour expression lighting the laugh lines of her face. "He gives me so little time to work and he expects miracles," she clapped her hands, then gestured Sarah to the vanity when she didn't move on her own.

"What time is it?" Sarah asked, searching for a clock with a yawn.

"Say good morning first, why don't you?" Sophia chided. The old woman immediately set to organizing the cosmetics on the vanity; her hands never stilled.

"I'm sorry. Good morning," Sarah replied, taking a tentative seat on the cushioned bench; neither piece of furniture had been there the night before. She wasn't looking forward to more primping, especially for the Goblin King's pleasure, for her betrothed's pleasure- she shoved the thought aside. Her breakfast tray cheered her up a little as she plucked a juicy grape from the stem.

"Your hair's a mess! Oh, but he must have liked it. He must have liked it very much," Sophia chattered, taking a silver comb to Sarah's flattened curls as a self-satisfied smile spread across her laugh-lined face. "Did you enjoy yourself, I hope, my dear?" with a wink. "He's a good man."

Since she didn't want to think about Sophia's questions, Sarah chose to ignore them. Let her think she'd slept with the Goblin King. Although she didn't want to trick the other woman, she knew they wouldn't come to any sort of understanding. Instead, Sarah broached one of her own questions. The tiny deception shamed and amused her all at once. "Where is his Majesty?" she queried, hoping to sound interested out of affection rather than distress. It wouldn't do to insult Sophia when she wanted her help. She needed someone to answer her questions, and the king could never be trusted, not even on the exceedingly rare occasions when he responded, so she wasn't about to pass up any opportunity.

"The family met for breakfast this morning. He didn't want me to wake you, was very hesitant to go, poor dear. Here, scrub your face." Sophia handed her a plush wash cloth and poured a basin of water for her.

Obligingly, Sarah set aside the muffin she was nibbling and complied. The water whisked away the salty dried remnants of her tears. "Sophia," she asked cautiously once she surfaced, "what does a betrothal mean in the Underground?"

"I saw he gave you his ring," Sophia winked again. "I told you he liked you."

Sarah looked down at the ring, realization dawning fast. Dimly, she noticed the brush snagged in her hair; Sophia cursed mildly. "It means we're to be married?" she asked although like any self-respecting vocabulary, fantasy, romance, or history buff, she knew.

"Exciting, isn't it?" Sophia's eyes swelled with pride as she untangled the brush from Sarah's thick locks. "I never thought he'd pick a bride. He's waited and baited us so long. Of course, he has to be controversial about it."

"Then I'm engaged?"

"You don't have to rush into that part, but effectively." She set down the brush and disappeared into the closet.

In an instant, Sarah's sense of denial evaporated. She forced the panic down; her breakfast tasted suddenly foul. Sophia returned from the closet with a high-collared pale cream silk dress. Sarah bit her lip, "How long then?"

With the rhythm of practice, Sophia shooed the girl behind a dressing screen to make her comfortable, handing garment after garment over the top. Carefully, Sarah stepped into the slips and chitrons; her numb mind missed the awe at her newfound familiarity with the strange garments while she waited for an answer. "It depends on the couple. Politically, children can be betrothed, before they're born even, you know that much I'm sure. Occasionally new politics replace them. Or love. That's what happened to the Lady Adele," Sophia said, moving behind the screen to slip the gown over Sarah's shoulders. "Now engagement, that implies everything's done and settled. The wedding's being planned."

"And my betrothal?"

Sophia snorted in the precise manner that a woman her age could be excused for as she laced the dress' corset back. "How am I supposed to know child? Ask you lover-lord yourself."

XXXX

Jareth returned late in the morning, frustratingly timed so that after hours of Sophia's needless fussing, Sarah had barely opened her book before he appeared, smoldering across the room. He looked every bit the prince, once again in shimmering black spikes, all angles, and she the princess in almost-white; the very thought unnerved her and upset her stomach. Although just as grateful not to have woken hysterically in his arms that morning, to face him now… She looked up from the window seat, full of questions and angry demands, armed with new facts and coalesced indignations. But her mouth gaped half open and hung silent.

"Are you feeling all right?" he asked with soft suspicion.

"I…yes," her eyes dropped to the open book in her hands.

One hand rested lazily on his hip. He squinted at her in the sun. "I know you did not sleep well," he added softly. He'd held her trapped while she cried.

Sarah could not detect the barest hint of apology, but he wasn't gloating either. Her shoulders rose with tension as she inhaled, "No."

"Sophia informed me that you had some questions?" She remained exquisitely still as he crossed the room to take a seat beside her. Her eyes rose shyly to meet his for one brief moment, then she stared out at his expansive chamber.

"You don't usually answer my questions," she replied, half way between frustrated whimsy and acid attack.

Jareth leaned towards her, his left shoulder just behind her right. He stretched his legs out in front of him, casually crossed as if settling in for a long discussion. "I tell you things when you need to know them. However, if you have questions, you must ask them, I understand."

She highly doubted he did, he was simply trying to play nice. He wanted to please her. Sarah supposed she shouldn't be shocked, especially if he really was her fiancé. That thought frightened her enough; she took a deep slow breath. She could indulge his determination not to fight. Even though the words tumbled out, she kept her cool, "I don't want to marry you. Aside from the fact that I was effectively kidnapped and don't want to be here, I don't love you and never will."

"I'm sorry my dear," he offered, too sweetly not to mock, "I had no idea."

Sarah turned to him. She knew he wouldn't accept her logic because he never did, but she needed to try. "Why do you want to marry someone who dislikes you as vehemently as I do?"

Jareth felt her eyes studying his. Kings did not deign to express their passions, they merely acted on them. Yet, she deserved something for her useless attempts to unlock his soul. He read the surprise in her face when he paused to consider the question. "You please me," he said at last, giving as clear and honest an answer as he could.

Her browed furrowed anyway, "Why? I'm nothing much."

She didn't understand. He didn't think she ever would, even if he employed useless cliché's about the blindness of affections. "You have intelligence and fire, most of the time" he answered. He grinned at the blush on her cheeks despite her indignation; he couldn't see how she remained unaccustomed to compliments. "You look lovely by my side." She had the gumption to roll her eyes. "And," his toothy grin widened, "You can never seem to decide if you are afraid of me. I find that fascinating."

"But…" she stammered.

"Enough. Do not forget that I lack a soul to peer into." The mask returned. He wouldn't tell her the other reasons for his choice anyway. Sarah frowned. "Ask another question," he demanded.

"You see," she itched at her gown's high collar, "you never answer."

"Ask another."

The skin of her neck reddened with tiny bites from her nails. Unaware, she stared into the ruby on her left hand. "How long?"

"I beg your pardon?" He knew precisely what she meant.

She closed her eyes as she spoke, fighting with reality. "If I don't want to marry you, but you don't care and you're going to force me to, how long do I have the luxury of waiting before I walk barefoot into hell?" her question ended in the barest of whispers.

"Into hell?" he raised an eyebrow.

Her eyes opened, but she stared out the window. The room overlooked a garden of roses about to bloom. She wondered about the roses back in the Labyrinth, and about other things. "I assume this is a paper marriage only?" She hoped; she dared not assume anymore.

"I never said that."

Her shoulders stiffened perceptively as he studied the curve of her neck. "But you did say . . ." she snapped.

Jareth sighed. He lashed out, took her chin in his hand and turned her to face him. "Look at me. I have given my word that I will not harm you, over and over again," he demanded.

Obviously, he failed to count kidnapping, emotional torture, ruining her family, treating her like a new toy, forcing her kisses or the minor bruises and scrapes she'd received already. "You've said that, for what little it's worth," she retorted as she pulled away.

"Regardless," he hissed before smoothing out his tone and swallowing his temper, "There is nothing for me in a paper liaison. Just now, you are nothing in the Underground." He leaned towards her, trying at the very least to return to their calm casual demeanor.

"So what about status then?"

He uncrossed his legs and straightened his spine. "I'm making you a princess. My ring decrees that and grants you my protection." He clasped her left hand in his, stroking the ring finger with his thumb.

She felt the slick cool leather and almost wished she could have felt his skin. If she only had his hand to hold in all the world, she'd rather feel the natural warmth of it. Draco hadn't worn gloves, she remembered, his hands almost hurt, but Alexander usually did. The other men adopted softer ones. Jareth hardly ever removed his unyielding leather gauntlets. He caught her eyes; she blinked the thought away and gasped, "If I'm a princess, then I have to marry a prince. You are the_ King_ of the Goblins."

He could play by her rules. "I'm also the second prince of Navarre, allied seat of the Underground. What does your ridiculous fairytale logic matter to me anyway?" Her lower lip bulged out; he instantly regretted offending her. They retook the same territory so often, but her hand rested caught in his against his thigh. Jareth took a more serious tone, "I would do far worse to leave one of my Labyrinth's scant successful challengers to escape unscathed by the experience."

Her eyes narrowed; she tugged back on his hand but he held fast. "You're punishing me. That's what you want them to think…," she started incredulously.

"'Allied' is a more appropriate operative word Sarah. And someday, I will have a powerful heir from this union." Although her face blanched, she ignored him, studying her delicate fingers linked with his large dark hands and the twisted picture they made. Not so much ying or yang; suddenly unable to stand the viciousness undercutting his tenderness, she tugged back hard. "I will not let go if you insist on behaving like that," Jareth added without missing a single beat.

Her glare lacked real conviction as she ruefully relaxed. Sarah turned away to look out the window, pressing her forehead against it. When had the rain started to fall? She watched the droplets spatter against the glass. "Then it is about status."

"In some part, everything is." His eyes followed hers, but the rivulets of water running down the window pain bored him. He studied the curve of her neck and the soft secret depression at the base of her skull he longed to touch without a fight. He let the moment linger as long as he could before pressing on, "Have I answered your questions Sarah?"

Sarah snorted, straightening her spine again. "Not in the least. I still don't know what to expect. On some level, I don't want to know, but I don't want to be lost either." She pressed her free hand to the glass, ironing the lines of her palm flat against the cool plane, imagining the little rivers trickling over her knuckles. Her chin fell to her chest, deflated. Her voice rushed out like air leaked from a balloon, "It's not as if I can ask you for help. And everyone else seems to be on your side, out of fear if nothing else, even Hoggle and Gilda."

"You can ask me for anything, my pet."

"You've already refused me my freedom."

He sighed, caressing her palm, "You want to know what to expect." Jareth paused, saw her nod without finding his eyes. Raising her chin; he explored her captivating gray green gaze. "You will not be frightened?"

Sarah swallowed. "I might be," she conceded shakily, "but I still want to know."

"Ours will not be a paper marriage, you will share my bed as a wife," he said slowly, enunciating each word as Sarah winced. "Yet, I will keep my promises. We only have forever to accustom ourselves to each other." Moving with languid speed, his hand dropped and his lips brushed her forehead. "My ring guarantees your protection and declares our attachment; no one else can remove it. Or touch you."

"Not even the high king?" she quavered.

"Not even Draco," Jareth agreed. She smiled tearily at that, less frightened at least. He squeezed her hand, "For now, you will attend my arm and let your inferiors look on us as a pair."

The room swelled with silence before she found her voice, "Nothing else?"

"Not at the moment."

"I see," she whispered, staring out the window again. He looked over her shoulder at the gardens and the gray light etched across her visage. "How long does the moment last?"

One arm wrapped around her waist, the other around her shoulders, his head atop hers. She allowed the contact, filling him with a thrill of pleasure. "Frankly my dear, I have not yet decided," he murmured into her hair.

XXXX

"Hello again mother," Jareth said as warmly as she ever heard him, which was actually slightly terse, kissing the regal woman Sarah recognized from the ball on the cheek. The dowager queen Savionne stood slightly shorter than her sons, and silver touched the gold in her hair around the temples, but she still took Sarah's breath away with the same imposing alien grace. She clung to the Goblin King with a sense of awe rising in her throat. And all of a sudden, Jareth was introducing her to the dowager queen. She swallowed in time to hear him finish, "…my chosen bride, Sarah."

"I'm honored to meet someone my son would choose to marry," Savionne replied with a soft polite impression of perfect kindness. Hurriedly, Sarah remembered Alexander's lessons in dancing and decorum; somehow, she managed a graceful curtsey. Savionne caught her son's eye for a moment before turning her attention to the girl. "I was under the impression that a victor of his labyrinth would not stand by silently," she added.

Sarah rose, slightly flustered and blushing as she searched for an appropriate response. Under normal circumstances, she fluctuated between her tongue running away with her, thinly veiled maturity and terrified silence. She settled on a non-committal, "Of course not your majesty."

Jareth laughed a little deep in his throat, his thumb absentmindedly caressing her elbow where he held her arm. "The affairs of Navarre have yet to loose their shell-shocking glamour for my bride mother. I assure you, she can be quiet conversational when we're alone," the words tripped off his tongue, half-chuckled like rich velvet; Sarah saw his humor but didn't share it.

"I'm glad to see you doing more than keeping pets," Savionne rolled her eyes. "Of course, Draco will have to settle soon. Tomorrow, he'll be King." Sarah watched the look that passed between mother and son, and suddenly understood that Savionne had not picked Draco for his talents, that she, like the Goblin King, feared the boons of primogeniture. She wanted to ask about it then and there, but would have withheld for fear of political backlash anyway, if the grand door had not opened again.

"Did not I tell you Jocaster, he's going to get married! Finally!" the princess Lindel bubbled into the room, escorted by her three sisters and their husbands. "Imagine Jareth," she stopped next to her brother and gave him a playful punch in the shoulder, "waiting until now to make a formal announcement? Even after the way you were dancing at the ball?"

"Some people like to keep their affairs private little sister," Phaedra chimed in, sharing an amused glance with her brother. "I'm happy for you both," she added, turning to Sarah with a friendly nod.

Jareth rubbed his upper arm as if Lindel's blow had caused him pain just to humor her. With his other hand, he squeezed Sarah's arm just a little tighter as if he thought she might flee the encroaching golden fae. "I have not yet made my formal announcement Lindel."

"Why do you not make it now then?" King Metagon, a stockier man than the rest, with bristly red hair, shook Jareth's hand. He had held no warmth in his eyes for his wife Jocaster, Sarah noted, but no animosity either.

Jocaster took her husband's hand, "Yes, make it now. Then we can take some time to get to know your bride."

"Our new sister," Lindel lilted. The voices started to swirl and rage in Sarah's head, pounding in her ears.

"Not without the to-be high king," the shadowland king Silas cut in, clutching his Ilillith's hand with tightly clasped fingers that bit her palm.

"Precisely my point," Jareth's voice cut through the haze in her head- Sarah knew he would be looking at her. She even imagined concern on his face.

"No," Draco drawled as a servant closed the door behind him. Everyone in the room, including his mother and arrogant brother, inclined their heads as the soon to be high king entered the hall. "By all means, make your announcement brother; you've already claimed the girl."

"Very well then," Jareth lifted her left hand, turned her to face him. "In the presence of my family and my king, let me say that I am taking this girl, this Sarah, as my bride to be. She is now princess of the Goblin Kingdom and betrothed to me."

No exit. No exit, no way out.

"A kiss!" Lindel called cheerily, "you must seal the declaration with a kiss."

For the barest instant, Sarah saw pleading in the Goblin King's eyes. It vanished without a trace. His hand traced her jaw line lazily as he lowered his face to hers.

"Of course, you must seal the bargin with a kiss," Draco murmured. His voice cut through the buzzing in Sarah's head. Images of Cosette flashed through her mind. Memories of the previous evening's painful embraces pierced her brain.

As soon as Jareth's lips touched hers, she fled.

XXXX

"There will be no more of that," Jareth chided as he closed the heavy door behind them and chased after her. His hand wrapped tightly around her bicep as she tried to step past him. "You are betrothed to me," he reminded her sharply. "For all public extents and purposes, we are lovers. Contented lovers. You will not flinch away from my affections," he took a deep breath and exhaled by her ear.

The air hissed through the shell of her ear; she quivered. "Cosette flinches away from Draco." A small swell of satisfaction rose in her throat as her barb struck and stung; he only raised an eyebrow, but with a telling twitch.

He forced softness into his tone as best he knew how, softly massaging her upper arm. "You are far more to me than Cosette is to my brother, do not forget that," he said. Taking small unalarming steps, he maneuvered her back into the wall.

Whisps of wild golden hair fell onto his forehead, obscuring his eyes. Without them, she couldn't read him. Lost in studying his face, she didn't notice her shoulders brushing the cool stone behind her. She swallowed, "What do you mean."

"You know very well what I mean…"

"No, I don't," her lower back pressed into the stone.

He threatened to press a finger to her lips, sharply commanding, "Silence Sarah." She didn't dare disobey him and clapped her mouth closed. He brushed a chocolate curl off her temple with an approving hum. Her wide eyes tracked his fingers as they traced her cheek and came to rest on her shoulder. "You and I need to be…comfortably affectionate," he smiled; her gaze darted over his face. One hand guided hers to his shoulder, encouraging her into his embrace, "Now I'm going to kiss you."

He leaned halfway down, but Sarah dodged to the right. "Is this supposed to be a lesson then?" she stuttered. Her panic was clearing, replaced by anger and revulsion. She still couldn't quite stop shaking.

"If you would like to think about it like that," he shrugged. "We must reach an agreement."

"By which you mean you want your way," she snapped.

Jareth stroked her temple. "Mostly," he conceded, "Apologies."

"You aren't sorry at all," Sarah hissed. But, he was acknowledging his selfishness, she noted, wishing that made her feel better. She looked over his shoulder, extremely claustrophobic, "And you're making me feel trapped."

"Why?" he drawled.

With great effort, Sarah took a deep breath. The wall bit her back again. "Wall," she replied as matter-of-factly as possible, "Plus, you're pushing me, and you're tall."

Leaning closer instead of letting her go, he rested his elbows on either side of her head. His lips brushed hers. "No objections to my kiss then?" he murmured from no more than a whisper away.

In that moment, Sarah understood the cliché about feeling her heart skip a beat. Her chest hurt; she forced the words from her throat, "Of course I have objections, but I…"

"Yes?"

Hands flat against his shoulders, she pushed him off, surprised when he gave way, even though he kept his grip on her shoulder. Her lips pursed. "I don't want to be taken advantage of," she stated coolly, rather proud of her achievement.

Internally, his hunting sense flared and thrilled. He liked her best when she tried to stand up to him, defied him. He squeezed her shoulder to remind her who held the reins of power. "But you need my protection from my brother," his smile turned slightly ferocious.

"I know ."

"This is part of that deal."

"I know!" At this point in her stay Underground, she didn't bother to mention that he'd kidnapped her and created the situation. Her steel gaze wouldn't allow him to forget. They locked eyes for a long moment; as always, hers lowered first, but she still felt sure of herself. Relatively. A pair of young ladies trotted by, giggling madly. Sarah flinched as their laughter erupted around the corner. "I don't want to do this here," she muttered.

He considered briefly, keeping his enchantment firmly in check with a carefully orchestrated sigh, grating out: "Where would you feel more comfortable?"


	24. Hot and Cold

Persephone 24

Hot and Cold

The location was less than ideal, but it would do. Sarah gasped as they spun back into the now familiar bedroom where she'd spent the night, where he'd spent the night, where they'd spent the night…his room. The surprisingly familiar, barely tolerated presence of his gloved fingertip on her cheek prevented her mind from spinning into panic.

"Do not fall to distraction Sarah," Jareth said, seeking her eyes. She nodded slowly, caught in his gaze, which he took as consent. With the extreme tenderness of longing, he guided her hands to his chest where she could push him back and wrapped his arm loosely around her waist, enjoying the way her scent teased his nostrils and mingled with her new, lady-like perfume.

What shocked her most was that he didn't kiss her right away. She'd come to expect a degree of gentility when he forced her to accept his affections, she'd long stopped thinking of him as a vampire, but she still expected his attempt at reverent invasion. Instead, he rested his forehead against hers, nuzzling lightly. His thin lips caressed her temple, then her forehead, then her jaw, fluttering softer than velvet. If he had been Brent, she would have loved the attention in a terrified-stomach-butterflies sort of way. Sarah pushed him away, though he kept her in his embrace. "Don't get distracted your Majesty," she whispered, fighting the old panic.

"Sarah please," her name on his lips always made her shiver. "We are lovers- call on me by name," Jareth twirled one of her curls around his finger. An impossible task; her gray-green eyes bulged. Her mouth gaped half open. "Say it," he murmured, forehead against hers. Her enticing lips tried to form the word, but she could not. "Say my name Sarah," he drawled in honeyed tones, kissing her forehead, "call me Jareth." His hands slipped into her hair, his attentions turned to her temple.

"Jareth…please I…" he moved again while she spoke, teasing her ear with his tongue. Sarah couldn't classify the feeling, but the sensation stole her breath for an entire heartbeat before she recovered her voice, wincing away. "Jareth stop!"

"Why?"

"I don't like it. You're frightening me."

"Really?"

"It feels too weird, gross." Sometimes, she was simply too young, but her naiveté endeared her to him. Progress though. Jareth loosened his embrace and stared at her with a cocked eyebrow. She took a deep breath, hands loose on his chest to push him away and because they had no where else to go, "That was too far. I agreed to a tiny little kiss, that's all."

"Only on your lips?" the arched eyebrow disappeared into blonde haze.

Sarah's brow furrowed, "Couldn't just my cheek count?"

His hands played up the muscular planes of her back. The left dipped back into her hair. She trembled, but tolerated him. "Afraid not. Here, now," he guided her face to his, marveling at the simple suppleness of her lips when he kissed her. With a charmed flick, his tongue sought casual entry.

Sarah yanked her head back so hard it hurt. "Not like that," she yelped.

He let her go, the smile diminished but very evident. Small steps. "You dislike the kiss of lovers? Most deign to find it enticing."

"Not with you," she caught his eye as the words tumbled out; sometimes, she had so little control of her impetuous tongue it very nearly ached. She hoped she hadn't unduly angered him and stumbled on anyway: "I've always been a little uncomfortable with the idea, I mean, I've hardly kissed anyone, ever before, and…" rambling wasn't improving the situation, she knew.

The king sighed, revealing his teeth; his arm tightened around her waist. Sarah arched her back to escape the pressure. "Might I suggest that we try and make you comfortable?" he asked.

"No, please don't. Just…," she shuddered, overcome by the strangeness of discussing the mechanics of kissing, the epitome of normal acts, with anyone, let alone the Goblin King, "just lips if you must." Her eyes pleaded with his.

"Open then," he stated without question. Clearly, Sarah itched to ask him what that meant, or yell at him again. Half-smiling, he tipped her chin up with one slender finger; their mouths met again, lips tickling softly, ever so delicate. True to his word, too. "Relax Sarah," he teased against her mouth; the warmth of his breath singed the moisture on her skin. Sarah lost all awareness of his light confining arm or fingers trailing in her hair. His lips captured her upper one, held it reverently for a moment before he released her.

"All right?" he asked genuinely.

She nodded, expressionless.

XXXX

"You are quite sure she is merely shy?" The dowager queen laughed lightly under her breath as she stirred sugar into her tea.

"Yes mother," Jareth replied from across the room. He stared into the corner of his mother's solar, hands folded behind his back, somewhere between the desire to leave and seek intellectual debate.

"My son," she shook her head at him, wry lines creasing around her eyes. Savionne took a delicate sip of her tea before continuing, "We all saw her run away from you, including your brother."

Being his mother, the queen caught the barely visible shudder of displeasure that crept up Jareth's neck just before he began pacing. "We have reached an understanding, I assure you."

"Good then. Draco likes her too much for you to lack one," she added, tracing his movement with a weathered eye.

"I am more than aware," he grated out.

The afternoon sun streaked gold into his hair, lighting it with brazen fire. The high queen tapped her spoon against the saucer. With a quirk in her lip, she glanced at the Goblin King's untouched tea before looking down her nose at his back. "Come sit down Jareth," she said once she realized how content he was to continue pacing in silence. After he sat down lazily in the armchair across from her, Savionne probed, "Please, tell me what ever is bothering you?"

"Mother," he rolled his eyes down, picking up a biscuit with casual distaste. "You talk as if you think I'm still a child."

"Compared to me my son, you will never stop being one. No one save Sophia knows you better than I, regardless of what Lindel thinks," her tone lowered, becoming conspiratorial. "And I know your betrothal is not the only thing on your mind, but perhaps we could discuss the mundane affairs of the heart before we turn treasonous," she waved a hand around the room, sending showers of sparks to ward the space with her magic. The fragile somber dowager seemed to vanish, replaced with a fae as sharp and dangerous as her sons. This was not Sepulcrave's docile widow. Their eyes met with an inherited wicked gleam. "But the girl first Jareth."

"I do not have a heart." _She certainly told him every chance she got. _

"She bested your labyrinth?" Savionne asked, chiding lightly with clicks of her tongue.

Jareth nodded, raising his cup to his thin lips. He remembered that noise from his many childish misadventures, especially when Draco was really to blame. He sighed with a touch of irritation, "You see then why I must have her. She cannot run free knowing my secrets"

"You have more pride than your brother," his mother quipped. "Do not pretend she knows anything that worries you. You're simply a sore loser."

He set his tea down and caught her directly in the eye. He'd rather discuss treason than the bizarre twistings of his romance; he tapped his foot impatiently. "But you know as well as I do that leaving her victory as it stands weakens my power base."

Savionne shook her head. The afternoon sunlight beaming through the high windows glinted silver and gold in her hair. "Very few actually consider what a mortal girl does any sort of threat," she grinned like an archetypal school girl. "But they do care about what you do, and who."

Jareth chuckled deep in his throat without committing to the sound. "Indeed."

The sunlight streamed into the solar, sending tiny rainbows crisscrossing around the room. The dowager broke the silence first, asking diligently, "And what of your heirs?"

"I fail to see the problem."

She narrowed her eyes. "Forgive the bluntness and my lack of faith. You never seemed the type to want a large family. Too many children, too many weaknesses, Draco's bastards aside.The fertility of a mortal girl will make having a small family even harder than it is for a fae woman to have a large one."

He nodded, half-bowing to her, "And you would know."

His mother scoffed, pushing her teacup across the table. "We had to have sons. Some one in our house had to have them, after three generations with nary a boy," she shook her head, frustrated with the memories, the heaps of destiny piled upon her sons and the spoilt lives that accompanied it. "Sepulchrave kept me close."

"I intend to keep Sarah close. Without creating that problem." He had charms against pregnancy, but they wouldn't need to worry just yet.

"I see male heirs in her lines, strong ones too," Savionne commented, folding her arms and leaning back in her chair to mirror her son. Then she caught his eyes as if presenting a challenge. "Will she allow you to keep her close?"

Jareth very nearly pressed his thin lips into a pout. She saw through him as if his elaborate plans were no more than clear glass. "I do not believe I have left her any choice. She will have to accustom herself to my presence; she will come to depend on me," he replied, anger threatening his voice.

"I can see the doubts in your eyes my son." He blinked and bit the inside of his lip in an uncharacteristic moment of boyish sincerity; Savionne smiled at seeing through his deception, calmly adding, "You would rather she cared for you."

He knew his mother couldn't understand, when she herself had entered an arranged marriage, but she seemed like the person to ask simply because she was his mother, and because he couldn't think of anyone else. Jareth took a deep breath before broaching the non-sequitor. "Mother, ...how do you know when you've fallen in love?"

His mismatched eyes narrowed in quiet honest anticipation. Jareth had expected her surprise when broaching the question, but he lost track of his mother's eyebrows as they rose just the same. She steeled her emotions quickly. "Are there violins or shooting stars?" He stared back at her with an impassive challenge. "Then you're intentionally ambiguous as to whether you want to know if you're in love," she gave him a sympathetic look, "or how to make her return your affections?" No nonsense then.

"Yes."

She understood him well enough not to expect more of an answer. "Believe me or not, the first question is easier to answer. But I never loved Sepulchrave, so I'm simply not the right person to ask. If your pride is sufficient enough, speak to your sister Phaedra, she being the one who married outside of society." He nodded without any intention of actually asking. "I cannot say that I loved your father until the end, but when I did…well, I simply liked being by his side. I noticed the little things about him, his smile, the left eye bigger than the right, the strength of his arms, the passion behind his severity…really my dear, I do not know." Jareth nodded, staring past her out the window, his lip curled in an expression somewhere between sour and wistful. "You really should ask your sister, or that Alexander."

"Perhaps," he murmured.

Even in his unchanged pale porcelain visage his mother could see the subtle moody traces of embarrassment: a narrowing of the eyes and a color one shade brighter than death in his temples. "You protect her well. Someday she may appreciate that," Savionne commented quietly, hiding her vast amusement.

Caught in her web, he veritably jumped at the ability to change the subject. "Are you ready to change the subject to treason?" he licked his lips, casting an eye around the solar.

"You know what I think of your brother," she replied daintily. "Even if the rest of court thinks a return to your father's harsh reign will stabilize the Underground," she frowned, "of course, Draco is far too unstable in his attitudes."

Jareth nodded, back in his element, "His cruelty lacks proper Machiavellian rationality."

"Yet, there is nothing to be done. The coronation must procede, unless you intend…?"

His mouth bent in a half smile. "No, not yet."

XXXX

That night Sophia prepared Sarah for bed behind a silk screen, while Jareth sat at his desk in the corner. He twirled a quill in his hand, pausing to suck on the tip to stimulate ink flow. He forced himself to ignore the quiet chatter across the room when the old woman and the girl moved to the vanity. Sophia sat Sarah down on the stool and took a silver brush to her tangled tresses. Sophia gave her a cream to rub into her skin and a balm for her lips. With her index finger pressed to her mouth, Sarah caught Jareth's surreptitious eye in the mirror. Gray green eyes held hazel and blue for a half a second before he turned back to his letter. Sarah chewed her lower lip.

"Send her to bed before dawn if you please Sophia," Jareth grated out without lifting his quill or his eyes. Then, with sudden irritated energy he crumpled the parchment, tossed it aside and began writing on a new piece.

"But her hair," Sophia choked. Sarah yelped as Sophia pulled a little too hard, causing the brush to snag, "It's so pin straight." She batted at Sarah's chocolate locks for effect.

"And equally lovely," Jareth replied, scratching at his parchment. "I'm quite pleased, I assure you."

He seemed so politely disinterested that Sarah felt a tiny pink rose bloom in her cheeks as she studied the wood grain of the small table. Taking hesitant steps across the room, Sarah picked up her book and hastily backed away from his desk. She took a seat in an arm chair, curled around herself, while Sophia busied herself about the room. Silence hung thickly in the air. Only when Sophia turned down the covers of the massive mahogany bed did Sarah swallow her nerves and slip between the king's sheets. She propped a pillow against the dark scroll carved headboard and opened her book, staying close to the left side of the bed.

"What are you doing dear Sarah?" the Goblin King asked from his desk.

"Reading for awhile," she murmured, watching him from the corner of her eye.

He nodded once without seeming pleased or displeased. "Ah, of course."

Sophia departed, leaving the pair alone. But the king and his bride effectively ignored each other, occupied with their respective tasks. Slowly while she read, the lamp at Sarah's bedside burned low.

Finally, Jareth folded his letter in thirds and set it aside. Sneaking her eyes up over her text, Sarah watched him heat wax in a candle, splatter it on the paper and seal the parchment. He stood, took his jacket from the back of his chair and folded it over his arm before he trapped Sarah's clandestine glance. "Yes?" he queried in a low whisper.

"I…" she sputtered, surprised at having been caught, "What are you doing?"

He leaned back on his chair, propping one foot on the cushioned seat. "Finishing a letter before I join the gentleman's party."

"To whom?"

Deciding to flatter her with the information he replied, "My sister Jocaster and her husband King Metagon, whose lands Draco keeps suggesting I be granted. I mean to tell them that I am not a threat."

"You don't want the land then?" She pulled the blankets up high onto her arms, holding the downy covers tightly around her hips.

"Not particularly. I do not relish stealing from family," _Draco not-with-standing_, she read the look on his face. Jareth paused, leaning over to check the seal. "And I appreciate my Labyrinth with all its idiosyncrasies."

Sarah wrinkled her nose in sharp distaste. "I thought it was a prison," she said matter-of-factly.

"I am more than a glorified jail keeper. I guard the portals between worlds and provide a convenient conduit for little lost siblings," he retorted. "And I take pride in my Labyrinth."

Sarah lowered her chin to her chest, not submissive or fearful, but testing the waters. "You don't seem terribly happy there."

He rolled his eyes elegantly at her, crossing to her bedside. "Do not judge what you do not understand," he snapped. "Besides," his smile turned harsh, "that is why I acquired a companion."

She felt the hard hot blush and immediately hated herself for it. A mountain of fury formed in her gut, but she dashed it against the rocks. "Don't start that," she replied with practiced calm as if she'd been dealing with his moods for centuries, "I don't want to hear that and I don't want to fight."

Jareth's hair fell into his eyes as he nodded. "Very well," he said, brushing it away impatiently. They stared at each other in silence for a long moment, but in a relaxed fashion. He broke the subtly tension with a clipped goodnight. Then he nodded to her and moved towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Sarah asked as he reached the elaborate black brass knob and enclosed it in his fist. She stretched up, ignoring the blankets as they fell down to her waist and immediately lifting them in surprise as felt the cool air on her chest.

"The smoking rooms with the other men. For brandy and conversation." He studied her expression over one shoulder, etched with an emotion he couldn't quite recognize. Her lower lip trembled in that way he had grown to learn meant trouble, but then she began to chew it in order to stop the movement. He raised an eyebrow, "why do you ask Sarah?"

"I…," she couldn't look at him. "I don't want to be alone."

He nodded, not necessarily understanding but having anticipated her anxiousness. "Shall I call Sophia back then?" he asked.

"She can't help…" Sarah trailed off. Her cheeks burned crimson again.

"You mean to say you do not like Sophia?"

"No. I like her."

Jareth tapped his foot, one hand lazily on his hip. "Then I will send for her," he said, stressing each word as if offended that the girl would reject his every favor.

The touch of irritated anger in his voice alarmed the Sarah, especially when it wasn't targeted to her meaning in the very slightest. She gulped and swallowed hard. Then the words tumbled from her mouth. "I'm afraid he'll come back," she gushed nervously. "And he doesn't listen to anyone else, but he can't challenge you…please don't go." Tentatively, Sarah raised her eyes to that unreadable mask. She could have sworn he was laughing at her internally.

"I told you my ring offers every protection," he murmured, seating himself on the bed near her without threatening her space. "He will not touch you."

"But he could, if I'm alone…"

"He will not." Jareth studied the firelit profile of her visage, glowing warmly around her temples. He felt rather than willed the corners of his mouth rising in a diminutive smile. "I will stay if you will feel more at ease Sarah, my dear." She nodded and took her book in her hands, adding a garbled thank you as a muddled after thought. He sighed, "I imagine you do not want me to come to bed?"

Sarah shifted, resettling herself into the blankets. But part of her was poised to fight. "Not really, no."

"Very well," he said, standing and returning to his writing desk. "Perhaps later." He lifted a quill to a new piece of cream colored parchment. Sarah opened her book again. In their separate corners of the room, they settled in for the evening.

An hour later, Sarah slipped into sleep unperturbed, her book still resting on her stomach. Reluctantly, he did her the favor of not coming to bed until her chest rose and fell in easy slumber. The Goblin King plucked the book from her abdomen, marked her page and set it on his desk. Jareth slid into bed, kissing her temple goodnight before wrapping his arm lightly over her waist. He smiled as Sarah slept on.


	25. Under Pressure

Author's Notes: (Long one)

The pun in the title is unintended!!

I don't know if anyone else is having trouble with email alerts from but mine aren't working. So if anyone is sending me email or messages through the website, I'm not getting them. People have been sending me review replies recently; I don't want to rudely ignore them.

I have a real profile now!

Shameless plug: Posted a League of Extraordinary Gentlemen one-shot and would love some readers.

I hate to whine, but last chapter I really missed the depth and breath of reviews I usually get. I love constructive criticism and knowing what readers enjoy!

Persephone 25

"Under Pressure"

"I have a feeling that I will not see you for another century my son," the dowager queen said with sad eyes. "Some of the family might even miss you."

"If invited, you may see me at my wedding mother," Jareth smirked, poking fun and playing games instead of acting serious. He sat by his mother's dressing table, leaning against the wall with one boot lazily popped up behind him. He laughed deep in his throat, "I doubt I will wait out the century."

"You insist on such arrogant self assurance," his mother countered, paying him little attention, filing her nails for the coronation instead.

"She will come around mother, allow me some credit."

"I fear you will faster remove your brother from the throne my son," she chided with bitter sweet amusement. Her eyes lower noticeably, studying her nails, before she looked back at him with a toneless sigh. "Play safely today. Your games will burn you if you loose; I will not bare it."

Before Jareth could respond to placate her worries, Lindel barreled into the room with very little intentional dignity. She swept past her older brother without seeing him; Jareth rolled his eyes. "Mother," she cried, taking the queen's arm desperately. "I have heard that Jareth is going to leave immediately after the ball tonight. Can you not stop him?"

"Daughter…"

The little princess turned around slowly when Jareth began to laugh. "Lindel," he called, smiling openly. He opened his arms, engulfing her slim figure in a warm embrace; would that Sarah could see him now as the affectionate older brother. "I fear I must apologize for taking leave so early," he murmured with his chin resting lightly on her head. Her fine curls blended with wild spikes of the exact same golden hue. He caught his mother's smile at the picture they made.

"Oh!" Lindel stamped her foot before hugging him again. "You're going to say that your kingdom needs you and draws you away and nonsense like that, I can tell. You could at least leave your lady for a little while, or visit Navarre again." She peered into his eyes, meeting only the bemused dismissal of an eternally superior older brother.

He hid anything but his pleasure. "I apologize little sister, but I must away," Jareth rubbed her hair, knowing precisely how long her maid probably took coiling the elaborate plait atop her head and doing as much damage as possible in a short time. He left only the spiraling tendrils framing her face undisturbed. Lindel didn't seem to notice. Avoiding detection, he removed his hands to his hips, play acting his overbearing self. "You have been talking to Sarah a great deal then."

Lindel giggled, not even pretending to cower before him. "I like her," she teased, twirling a curl around her finger.

"Well, that is simply splendid Lindel," their mother interjected. "Pity the girl dislikes your brother so vehemently."

"But they make such a fantastically lovely fairy tale pair, for he's light and fierce while she's midnight and cream," Lindel wrapped her arms around herself, swaying with the romance of her own fanciful imagination.

Jareth pushed her shoulder, sending his little sister stumbling back a step. Lindel turned her lower lip, pouting back at him. Casually, Jareth reached for her head; Lindel stuck her tongue out at him. "Children," Savionne scolded softly before Jareth could wreck anymore frizzy ruin on his sister's hair.

He returned his hands to the small of his back, once again the pristine picture of sophistication instead of boyish insolence. "Perhaps you could visit us Lindel," he smiled at the state of her tresses, "and convince Sarah to commit to your romantic fantasy on my behalf."

"Could I mother?" she asked, standing on tip toe.

"Perhaps. Though you will not find any husbands in the Labyrinth."

"Unless you harbor strange affection for goblins," Jareth joked. "Really mother, I could use her help."

Surprising them both, Savionne rolled her gray blue eyes, exaggerating the movement for her children's benefit. "Anything for your revolution," she winked, "and to see you wed." Lindel leaped into her brother's embrace; Jareth offered his arm to escort her from the chamber. Savionne shook her head in dismay at the pair of them. "Now see to your appearance daughter!" she chided as they strolled down the corridor.

XXXX

As the ceremonial crown came to rest on Draco's head by his own hand, Jareth's fingers tightened into her upper arm, but his schooled mask of a face revealed nothing. He loosened his grip only when a tiny whimper rose in the back of her throat, lightly massaging her bicep in apology. Chewing her lower lip, Sarah shot him a sideways glance. She remained perfectly still, her visage just as elegantly schooled as the Goblin King himself, as he brushed a kiss against his temple. She allowed him the affection both out of their agreement and sheer pity, but a blush still bloomed in her cheeks.

Above the assembly on his dais, Draco straightened the atlas-axis vertebra in his neck, standing archly tall in blood red. He snapped his fingers, sending the court to their knees as one body, necks broken and staring reverently down - with the obvious omission of the Goblin King and their mother. Across the crowded room, the dowager queen remained motionless in her age and dignity. Tearing her eyes away from the green silk of her dress intricately puddling in her lap, Sarah lifted her nervous gaze. Her eyes trailed up over Jareth's immaculately polished boots, the stretch of his breeches across his thigh, his dark blue velvet coat and petulant expression. She never could quite read his etched features.

The new high king and his younger brother stared at each other over the heads of countless powerful fae. With a twist of his lip, Jareth held his brother's eye and half inclined his head, gloved hands clasped nonchalantly at the small of his back as if at a boring garden party. Here stood a man who would kneel for no one. Sarah watched their sister's expressions in the crowd: elder Ilillith almost appalled at Jareth's arrogant opposition, Jocaster narrowing her eyes the way only a member of his family could, romantic Phaedra seeming confused and concerned, and haplessly sweet Lindel not knowing who to watch or who to trust.

Draco was starting to make a speech to which Sarah listened intently, but suddenly, without loosing any of his arrogant posture, Jareth had lowered his hand to her. Sarah took it unhesitatingly, feeling horridly self-conscious as he began to raise her to her feet beside him. She pulled down hard without struggling, not wanting to join the Goblin King, his brother, and the dowager Queen as the only ones on their feet in the stuffy room. Sarah knew she merited no recognition, but he insisted. The moment seemed to last forever as Draco's voice pounded in her ears, his icy azure eyes trained on her features, her skirts swooshed down around her legs and she tentatively found her feet.

Sarah stared at Jareth, clung rather desperately to his side, but he ignored her, instead looking only forward, straight, arrogant and royal. A quiet gasp echoed through the chamber as courtiers and ladies alike tried to understand the affront to polite society and the high king's reign. No one dared to move while Draco droned on, systematically targeting his primary supporters in the crowd.

Sarah caught Alexander's eyes amidst the gathering, but a quiet rustling of silks distracted her from analyzing the panic in his normally wry blue gaze. Slowly, and at Ilillith's obvious protest, Lindel was climbing to her feet. Phaedra and her status-less husband followed her. Judging by the mixed sound of the whispering under Draco's booming voice, no one could tell if they stood to support the high king, or with Jareth in opposition. Perhaps the rest of the royals shifting their weight on the ground simply objected to hunching like toads in order to amuse another ruler. After a tense moment, seemingly under that prerogative, Jocaster and Metagon stood for the Aubergene; Ilillith and her husband rose for the Shadowlands. Sarah looked to the Goblin King in open-mouthed wonder.

All eyes in the gathering turned from the floor to the royal family and finally to Draco's supporters themselves. With her dove's grace, the Lady Adele was the first amongst them to stand, brushing dust from her skirts with casual ease. She trained her eyes on Jareth as her husband Corinth stood a half second later. Merfin and the other nobility allied with the high king stood as the rest of the room began shuffling and stirring to find their feet again, but they kept their eyes only for their lord Draco. Demure Cosette remained on the floor in her corner of the grand chamber.

Sarah breathed a quiet sigh of relief and loosened the death grip on the Goblin King's arm she suddenly realized she's been holding. She sneaked a sidelong glance at him, only to find his mismatched eyes trained on her. "Sorry," Sarah muttered.

He laughed darkly in his throat. "My dear, I never feel pain," he responded, belying the whole situation.

Sarah didn't argue. Instead they stared at each other while Draco continued to rhetorically structure his devotion to the Underground and the devotion due him. He was speaking about a new order, just as strong but less repressive than Sepulcharve's. It was fitting then, that his brother had arranged such an ambiguous demonstration of change. "Sarah," Jareth's chocolate-melting voice interrupted her musing and examination of the idiosyncrasies of his irises, "I intensely lack the desire to listen to this prattle. Now come along."

Setting the second precedent of the morning, the Goblin King and his princess walked out of Navarre's throne room.

XXXX

They were sitting quietly in the study off Jareth's chamber when Alexander burst in a few hours later. As always Sarah sat reading, having nothing else to do, while Jareth scratched at parchment at his desk. "Just escaped," the older fae gasped, one hand patting his chest over his heart while his lungs filled copiously with air. "That man is longer winded than you," he wheezed.

Jareth lifted his head from the monotonous paper work he'd only been pretending to finish. He turned in his chair and clasped his long fingers in his lap. "And?" he demanded.

Alexander took a seat next to Sarah, patting her wrist as she studied him. He shrugged, "More of the same, really. He had quite a task getting the audience's attention back after your little debacle."

"He wasn't supposed to do that?" Sarah confirmed, because as sure as she was of the answer, the Goblin King had refused to give her a straight out confirmation. Finally she became so frustrated that she took up her book and ignored him. Her eyes darted back and forth between Alexander's face and the Goblin King's profile.

Alexander dipped his head politely. "Her Majesty was in on your plan?"

Jareth conjured a crystal and spun it between his fingers. Sarah watched her expression in the orb, entranced. She had hardly seen him touch anything magical in months, half wondering if magic was such a great part of the underground after all. "No," when he inclined his head the firelight fell across his face and played into the crystals waltzing in his hands. "If anything, I corrupted her plan."

"Ah. So then I should be surprised not to find her screaming bloody murder at you." Alexander turned to Sarah without missing a beat, "It's more intertwined than that my dear, although some do enjoy showing off." _Only Alexander_.

She nodded, watching herself get lost in the blaze contained delicately in Jareth's palms. While the men talked, she listened, quiet, still and hidden behind her curtain of hair lit with reflected fire light, as unobtrusive as a fly on the wall.

Jareth's lip twisted at Alexander's little barb, but he ignored it in favor of more pressing matters. "I pride myself to think she would rather pursue more open protest."

"But you both know…"

"That no one can move against the high king while has popular support, no." Jareth pinched the bridge of his nose as his sinuses swelled with the nausea of a headache for a split second before returning to the glass menagerie come to life at his fingertips. He decided to live with the pain instead of pushing magic into it. Alexander stood, but the Goblin King bade him sit back down and fulfill his more valuable role as confidant. "They want my father back, but without his ferocity."

"Do you have a plan then?" Alexander half-teased.

The crystals spun faster, almost violent; he captured each before its inevitable escape. "I gave my brother precisely what he asked for, a new order. Pity he could not appreciate it," Jareth sneered.

"I shall take your answer to mean 'no.'"

"You're very good at that, giving people what they want," Sarah whispered. She bit her lip and curled her knees beneath her.

"Sarah," Jareth drawled just as if he'd been observing her the entire time, "Sophia will come soon to prepare you for the ball this evening. As it is thankfully the last, we must make an appearance before returning home." He caught her eye, anticipating the argument from the squaring of her jaw.

She pursed her lips, and surprised him. "Am I on your arm then?" she asked quietly.

Her eyes had widened, the old fear of both him and his kingdom remained, he could see. But her calm acceptance was entirely new. He smiled, testing her limits, "No fighting then my pet?"

She made the same disgusted face that usually implied retreat or a sharp smack in the face. "I don't want to go, no," Sarah protested. She smoothed the skirts of the horribly foreign dress she wore, grinding her teeth. "I want to listen to you and know what's going on, even though now you know I'm interested you'll stop talking. And I certainly don't want to go with you, not even to stay away from him. But you couldn't care less what I want."

He felt the twinge of hurt even though she remained perfectly calm, resigned even. "Sarah, my dear…." he soothed, spreading his hands wide as if surrendering himself to the fire. The crystals evaporated.

A sharp knock sounded at the door. "I've come for mi'Lady," Sophia announced from outside.

Placidly, Sarah gathered herself together and hefted her waffleish skirts around her. "I don't want to talk about this anymore," she said softly and left the room.

XXXX

Sophia nattered away, but Sarah didn't listen. She stared into her hands instead of the mirror. Her long slender fingers made her palms look all the more demure by comparison. Sophia had finally satisfied herself with the condition of her nails, now smooth and shiny pale pink. The red ring seemed to swell around her knuckle, so she slipped it under her thigh, ignoring the depressed curve in her spine as she slumped into her seat.

As far as she could tell, there was no way out of this particular circle of hell. She searched for a method of escape every chance she got, but nothing in the library, no snippet of conversation, no closeted murmur suggested any way to escape from the Underground or the marriage. No caged animal metaphor emphasized the squalor of her situation to her satisfaction. She was trapped.

After the shock, she'd been afraid, angry and tearful. Now she felt as though the Underground was sapping her strength and stealing it away in much the same way as the Goblin King took children: irreverently and irrevocably. She hated herself for thinking that she wanted to return to the Labyrinth and its castle. But the only small elements of home that felt unlikely to spin away remained there. She missed Gilda, Nightengale and her yet unnamed filly, her young kittens, the limited access to her friends and the private room that would allow her to escape for her unwanted lord's undesired advances. If nothing else, the Labyrinth felt safer than Navarre with its savage courtiers.

While Sophia set her hair into a waterfall of cascading chocolate curls, Sarah considered her new future again. He had promised her time. She felt her heart sink when she thought about what to do with that time. What could she do? There was no school and very little chance for appetite-wetting intellectualism. She missed people her own age, knowing that Cosette and Lindel would be lost to her as soon as they left Navarre. She missed casual comforts; her jeans lost threads by the day when she could get away with wearing them. Perhaps her negative attitude was defeatist. But the more she searched, the less she found. More doors closed than opened.

Sophia made Sarah stand and laced her stays. The girl sighed, leaning down to the vanity on her elbows. She rested her chin her hands before dropping her forehead to the table, wild tresses tumbling forward over her head, exposing the vulnerable curve of her creased vertebra. Her back arched and contracted with each pull; she accepted the pain, suddenly finding herself accustomed to suffocation. Sophia grunted in satisfaction at the girl's miniscule waist, now fit for her king's hands to encircle and parade through the upper echelons of society. Breathless, Sarah collapsed on the desk. One cracking dry sob echoed through the room as her ribs reached their resting point, constricting her lungs and heart until they felt like black raspberry jello. The pale flesh at the nape of her neck flashed between the darkness of her hair and high collared black gown, the forbidden depression at the base of her skull, the one the king longed to touch, defenseless.


	26. Propriety

Short chapter, long notes. This one's been bugging me.

I'm so sorry to torment my readers, especially Anji and Solea who have repeatedly pointed it out, but Sarah has to hit rock bottom before we see suffiecient change- so life in the Underground will be dismal a bit longer. That said, I'm rather proud of myself to have reduced many reviewers love and instant affinity for Jareth over the course of this story. So bear with me, we are going somewhere.

Additionally, I've rather severely injured myself. The only real positive side to loosing my active life style and looking forward to likely surgery this summer is fancying myself a full time writer while recovering. I'm focusing on that silver lining, as well as selfishly asking my fan fiction friends to keep me in their thoughts and prayers.

Okay, that's officially far too much blathering.

Persephone 26

"Propriety"

"Of course Draco would pick masks for the party," Jareth griped, dangling resplendent twin faces from his gloved hand. Thoroughly mirrored with intermittent obsidian crystals, each mask covered the entire upper half of the face. He could see Sarah's instant unintelligible revulsion in her pale visage and parted-lip pout. "Come now my dear," he extended the stick to her, tightening her hand around the mask's baton. "You have nothing to fear, I promise."

"I'm not afraid," she said, exhausted from her shallow breaths and the old territory they consistently retook. "I don't like masks, that's all," she narrowed her darkly lined eyes at him in a devilish sneer, despite her quiet demeanor. "You understand." She took the mask and turned away to examine the total effect of her black gown and reflective mask in the mirror. Her tiny waist created the perfect hourglass figure between the plunging neckline which emphasized her enhanced bosom and swirling full skirts. Fortunately, a sheer chemise lining crept the length of the gown, from her ankles up her noble neck, affording her some limited privacy. It suited her; otherwise, she's simply go mad on him. Besides, he liked imagining.

"Sarah," Jareth drawled to remind her of his presence. How he longed to slide up behind her, stroke her hip and steal her into his embrace. To have her in confidence and trust. To play at battling wits on the chess board, companionably. To go for long rides in the mountains. To spend an afternoon in comfortable silence. Instead, she tore herself away from the mirror to look back at him from all the way across the room. "When we return home the roses will be all abloom," he whispered, watching her strain to hear his low dangerous voice. "I hope you will return with me to the gardens, but until then…." With the air of a practiced magician, he pulled a dark rimmed crimson blossom from his palm. A tiny huff of air escaped her lips, penetrating her silence.

The king crossed the room in two easy strides. He stood close, forcing her to stare at his chest or crane her neck up to his face; of course, she chose the later. "You look rather queenly," he appraised, cupping her chin, fingertips caressing her high cheek bone with the delicacy used to stroke a hummingbird. "Let's try to get along tonight my dear."

"Stop," Sarah whispered half-audibly, shaking her head to remove his hand.

He lowered it. "Turn around," he commanded instead, guiding her shoulders to ensure her compliance. But she was already half turning. With his lips in a thin line, he pressed the dark roses into the mass of sable tresses flowing down her neck. They added one spark of color to the full black ensemble.

As soon as his hands left her, she whirled back to face him to keep the predator away from her vulnerable back. Then the shallowness of her constrained breathing caught up with her. Sarah gasped; Jareth caught her wrists. He inhaled deeply before he spoke, sparking instant envy in her gut. "Are you quite all right?"

Every rib pressed into the boning of the corset. "Yes," she stammered, long lashes fluttering.

He frowned, noting the quiver of her lip and shallowness of breath. Releasing her hands, Jareth reached down to brush her waist, but withdrew his hand when he caught her eyes. Imaging her pain, he winced in sympathy, "Can you breathe?"

"I'm fine," she replied, not knowing how to react to the concern in his voice. And anyway, part of her worried about walking before the underground without looking absolutely perfect. She could accept the agony for that.

"Sarah darling, I would prefer you not faint while dancing with me," he said softly, dropping his head to look up into her eyes.

It made him seem younger, Sarah noticed, though she really had no idea how old he was; the corset bit into her ribs again. She cringed; his eyes narrowed. "Please Sarah. You'll excuse me while I call Sophia to assist you," he added, stepping smoothly from the room.

XXXX

"Nervous?" Jareth asked lightly a few minutes later, uneven eyes glittering behind the sparking mirror-mask.

"That I'm entering in front of all of Navarre, or that I'm with you?" she retorted, without any fire in her voice, staring at her fingers resting on the crook of his elbow. She almost pulled them away, but resolved instead to appeal to his favors later. Later, always later.

"I would imagine both," he teased, wanting to see her smile. "Ready?" he added, unsatisfied.

She didn't have a spare second to answer before the great wooden doors parted before them. Dimly, in the haziest part of her mind, Sarah heard the herald announce them with pompous prestige. It never occurred to her to wonder how she was introduced until the words float past her hearing. The masked faces washed over her, crashing down like a wave in her peripheral vision as she looked this way and that. As the roar subsided she picked out individuals in the crowd, instantaneously shocked into stillness by the dress and antics of the courtiers: an overflowing bosom here, flimsy skirts and long side slits, breeches tighter than second skin. Little in the ballroom resembled the tight formality she'd witnessed in the rest of Navarre. Behind concealing masks, propriety lost all appeal. The courtiers had literally let their hair down and intoxicated themselves with the party. Only the Goblin King's persistent stride kept her moving through the throngs of revelers. She felt instantly grateful for the mask, thrilled that her revulsion didn't show on her face as the people swept bows to the new royal pair.

Sarah knew when Draco entered behind her because of the thunderous applause and sudden taste of sulfuric smoke. She longed to turn around and look at him, to know him before his mask concealed his serpentine charms. Jareth kept her walking straight ahead until the last possible moment; she caught sight of a red death's head and cape.

"Everyone must dance the first," Jareth said, before she could crane her neck to search the swarming crowd for him. Peering around the mask, he inclined his head low, dark streaks dancing through his hair, and offered his hand. "Such is tradition," he scoffed with false disdain. Their masks met as Sarah set her left hand in his right, grinning emptily back and forth in their entwined fingers. Both pairs of eyes followed her hand's tentative sweep to the king's shoulder, pale against the black. The music began. Stepping back on her right foot, she bit her lip. His eyes softened just noticeably.

They spun quickly, flying through the courtiers. Semi-consciously, Sarah noticed that she had no idea what pattern her feet followed, though it felt a bit like a waltz in the wrong beat. He guided her seamlessly, effortlessly; with more of the Stockholm syndrome feeling of bizarre trust, she watched his eyes.

For all their wild revelry, the courtiers seemed lost in their bizarre waltz. It had once been a vulgar dance, Sarah remembered dimly in the back of her mind, when bodies were not allowed to touch. As the music crescendoed and the song shifted, she lost sight of any place where bodies were not touching. Men and women melted into each other, despite their lavish silks. Spinning in Jareth's arms, Sarah thought she caught sight of the Lady Adele's flaxen curls, but it couldn't be, not when the woman in question was pushing and thrusting her hips in response to her partner. She couldn't see either of their faces clearly enough. And that couldn't be Lindel's slender wrist, flaunting and teasing a long nosed gentleman, or Alexander, gaily helping himself to turns with young overflowing bosoms. She saw the Red Death's head, surrounded by many women, whose dresses hung torn, bearing their shoulders and pointed collar bones. His hands roamed up their ribs, and Sarah could not identify the difference between fear and ecstasy…or bald-faced ambition. How Cosette must have been hurt, alone with the high king, but there she was, twirling with her skirts flying from her hips. Sarah's head began spinning; the whole room made her grow dizzy…

Then cool leather pressed against her cheek. She noticed the final swell and fade of the song. Her eyes flicked down and spotted his hand on her cheek. Slowly, she met his gaze.

Jareth cleared his throat, moving to escort her from the floor, though his eyes wandered over the crowd. "They will try to influence you, my dear," he said dryly, pressing lightly into the small of her back when she didn't accompany him. "You must keep your wits about you."

She glanced around the room at the spinning courtiers taking up the next dance, a faster tempo with a flinging step, provocative and joyful, anything but lewd. "I think I need a drink of water," she whispered, squinting against the myriad of flashing colors.

"Of course." He nodded and guided her to long tables spread with truly unimaginable food and drink. She couldn't understand the words that tripped off his tongue. Instead, she watched him speak to a servant there, studied the ways his lips and eyes moved as he gave orders. Even after the nervous page boy darted away, the Goblin King's nimble eyes scanned the room, constantly calculating. She tried to see what he searched for, but couldn't look out at the crowd without feeling them tug at her mind. She lost a whole minute to dizziness from watching the dancers. "Sarah," he chided, snapping her mind back to the racing present, so quickly her eyes spun. He steadied her with a hand on her shoulder. "Try to focus," he said, holding a goblet to her lips.

She wrapped her hands with his around the stem for balance and took a delicate sip. The drink cleared her mind immediately; only then did she glance down at the contents of the cup. A strangle red nectar with little jewels of fruit floating on top swirled in a way far too animated for normal liquid. Sarah glanced up at the king before taking another mouthful. "This isn't water….you're not trying…," she queried, still fighting the bright haze hovering around the corners of her mind.

"I know you dislike wine," he replied patiently, steadying the goblet, then releasing it. "This will clear your head, I promise."

Tipping the goblet, Sarah sipped the drink again, collecting a puddle of liquid in the bowl of her tongue before swallowing. "It tastes familiar."

He chuckled deep in his throat, grating, "Pomegranates are not unique to my world little Sarah." He peered down into her face, absent mindedly twirling the baton of his mask between gloved fingers. "Feeling a bit better?"

She took stock of the buzz in her head before glancing around at the crowd. The courtiers still seemed to be letting their hair down, wild, lavish and profoundly sexual, but she could make out faces, and lingering hidden restraint. Sarah pursed her lips before speaking; the words tumbled out slowly, "I think so."

Jareth nodded. "That I am glad to hear."

He took to scanning the room again, with that hawk-like quest for small flickers of significant movement amongst the throngs. Sarah finished her nectar, crushing the last seeds to release the sweet juice. She wondered if Jareth was plotting, or perhaps not as sociable as she might have imagined. He seemed contented enough to hang back in the shadows. But from what little she knew of them, unlike his spot-light seeking brother, he was the sort to stay in the back ground and play silent games. He liked subtly and riddles. He brooded.

He caught her watching his face as soon as her head cleared, attempting to decipher him, and through him, the rest of the undulating court. After a long moment of silence while he basked in her clandestine gaze, Jareth cleared his throat. "Do you have a question?"

He surprised Sarah so much that even her immense vocabulary and impetuous tongue failed her. She had half opened her mouth when she heard a briefly known, but already well recognized feminine lilt floating near. "My brother and my friend!" Lindel called, breaking the pair apart in her enthusiasm. "Is this not the most fantastic fete you have ever seen!" she squealed in girlish delight, sullied curls bouncing around her face.

"I'm so thrilled to see you again," Sarah replied with a little giggle, examining Lindel's take on the wild fashion of the party. She wore a close fitting crimson velvet bodice with a corset laced over it. The fabric swelled around her breasts and hips, before flaring into a skirt slashed half way up her thighs. As the garments of the gentry went, it barely seemed provocative, but Sarah hadn't had time for a full comparison.

"Mother almost refused to let me wear this," Lindel said to her brother before Sarah could comment, "but I had the gown made special, designed for the party myself." She tossed her head from side to side as she spoke; once again, tussled as they were, the dancing curls refused to let her seem half so grown up or sexualized as the others. The effect both comforted and disconcerted Sarah.

Jareth pressed his lips into a thin line. "She should not have allowed you, little sister."

Lindel leaned into Sarah, stage-whispering in her ear, "Would you ever have guessed him so old-fashioned? Just because father wouldn't necessarily approve…"

"It's a very…daring ensemble," Sarah replied, but Lindel had already flown to another topic. To Jareth's dismay, his sister took her arm and led Sarah a few feet away, chattering; he stalked them immediately.

"You should know that all the men are just dying to dance with you. You look divine," she twirled her hair around her finger, pursing her lips, "even if he does prefer the conservative." Sarah couldn't imagine anything conservative about her dress; despite the higher neckline, the garment clung to her figure and revealed her skin through translucent fabric. Still, she supposed she could see the comparison when looking at the other women. Lindel hurried on, "And they want to know everything about just what sort of person could hold sway on both of my brothers."

"Brothers? I don't have any sway…"

Jareth cleared his throat, returning to Sarah's side. He flicked a speck of lint off her shoulder.

"Clearly you do. I honestly think you're going to start a new romantic fashion trend towards darks and sables."

"Lindel," the Goblin King interrupted, taking his sister's arm, the picture of the stern elder. "Let's not propel dear Sarah's vanity any more." At one point, Sarah might have found some amusement in his covert antics. Lindel ignored him, twisting effortlessly out of his grip.

"I suppose that is silly," she added, standing on tiptoe. "But do not think you are completely beholden to him Sarah. There are lines of important courtiers waiting to dance with you and learn all your enticing secrets." Though Lindel hadn't meant the words with any menace, they raised individual hairs on the back of Sarah's neck. The other girl whispered in her ear as if they were playing telephone in grade school, "They want to know how to best the labyrinth, and how the human world works, and…"

"Lindel," her brother cleared his throat again, "Please."

Lindel stuck her tongue out at him, completely childish in her otherwise rather mature get-up. Sarah had never read _Lolita_, but she supposed it something similar. "Do not suppose that I only came this way to beg for a partner," Lindel teased, tossing her head back to laugh. "I didn't just come to dance with you; I want to talk to Sarah as well." She gave the other girl a knowing look, though Sarah couldn't be entirely sure what she meant to convey- something more than mischievous.

"The Idenza is next," the Goblin King cut in as new music swelled, tapping his foot impatiently despite the smile lines creasing around his eyes. "Shall we?"

Sarah knew the look he gave her meant 'stay put,' and honestly, when Lindel took his hand to walk away, she had no intention of doing otherwise. She'd slowly finish her drink instead, perhaps brave asking for another, now that she didn't fear alcohol. Even without the obscuring masks, she knew precious few of the players here. She didn't even know who was dangerous, save Draco himself. And she wouldn't tempt him by exploring the crowd. But just before disappearing into the swirling dance, Lindel called back over her shoulder, "You must not worry Sarah, of course I've brought you a partner too!"

He tapped her on the shoulder. Spinning round, Sarah recognized him immediately. "Good evening," he said, pulling his long nosed mask aside. "Allow me to introduce myself. Lord Merfin, at your service Lady Sarah." He swept a deep bow and came up with a gentle kiss on her second knuckle. Without a spare second to curse herself for the cliché, Sarah's heart skipped a beat. Then her blood froze.


	27. Propriety Addendum

Authors Notes:

1. Thanks for the wonderful reviews, thoughts, and prayers. It's been a rough few weeks.

2. Short chapter. Really, more of a follow up to the last because I made a structural error.

3. I intended to get this out around Easter, which obviously didn't happen. Instead, I ended up editing some early chapters (1-5). There's a length new note at the beginning of chapter one if you're interested; essentially, I wouldn't keep reading my own story based on the beginning, so it needed some help.

4. Easter Eggs! Many of you have caught some of my quotes and references. I'm fascinated by playing with words in new contexts. I meant to have them out for Easter, but they'll be in my profile soon.

Persephone 27

Propriety Addendum

or

"Everything's Dancing"

Giving little concentration to guiding his sister through the dance or her light-hearted chatter, Jareth watched Merfin bow to his lady, take her hand and twirl her away. She watched his eyes; Jareth could see the other man's lips moving, but couldn't read the spoken words as the pair spun. But Sarah was smiling with that apple-blossom blush he adored on her high cheeks. He spied the other vultures, with eager eyes and even more eager fingers. A catch threatened his throat; he swallowed sharply.

"You are far too nervous my brother," Lindel remarked with a wink, "I think you worry that you'll lose her."

He narrowed his eyes at her bright smile. "Did you find her a partner on purpose, just to spite me?" he grated harsher than he intended.

Lindel refused to indulge him, but her lips pressed into a minor pout. "Merfin wanted to dance with her. I told you, they all do." She glanced at the pair; Jareth's gaze followed his sisters. Although Sarah's chatting with the other man delighted Lindel, the easy familiarity worried him.

"Be careful Lindel. I may be fond of you, but you do not understand all of this game yet." Rather, he wondered if she ever would. At times, Jareth envied his sister for her easy companionship and amiability. Privileged and youngest, Lindel could avoid the eager carnage of politics.

"She has your ring on. Sarah will be yours- but why deny her a little fun?" Lindel pulled her hand out of his to playfully punch his shoulder, slipping her fingers back without missing a single beat. He refused to even fake a flinch. "Honestly, it's more romantic if you win her."

"I have plenty to do already, Lindel. In that area and others."

"Maybe you should try a little touch harder," Lindel quipped as she spun under his arm. "Night and day pretty as you are together, and as much as you dote on her, I never see Sarah's smile."

"I know," Jareth bit out, guiding them towards the other couple.

"Obviously, you have not deigned to show her your chivalrous side, or the big brother who likes to ruin my hair." The princess rested her head against his chest, golden curls stark against his black doublet. Despite her winning smile, Lindel lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Lady Adele says you act the bully and frankly I agree, even if you do look terribly sweet guiding her tonight," she added.

True, his bride refused to care for him. "When did you speak to Adele?" he scolded, sweeping hair off his sister's forehead.

"Does it matter?"

"Yes."

"Not," she teased, "that you will listen to anyone."

XXXX

When he took her hand, a spark of pure fire raced through her veins, warming her skin with a painful half-frozen flush. His hand fell to her waist; she could feel heat through his glove.

"He keeps you on far too short a leash mi'Lady," the high lord Merfin teased. They swept wide arches around the floor, moving quickly through other boiling couples. Almost instantly, Sarah completely lost track of Lindel and the Goblin King.

Privately, she agreed, but she knew enough not to say so at Navarre. "He says you're all dangerous. I'm supposed to be careful," she responded slowly, gauging the reaction in his eyes. Something about their impenetrable warmth frightened her more than the most piercing stare. Goosebumps spread up her arms.

He chuckled. "As well you should my dear." He leaned in close; the long nosed mask grazed her ear before brushing past. "Here, many many things go bump in the night."

It took Sarah a long second to realize his joke. After an awkward silence, they laughed together; Sarah decided she liked the sound and the freedom. "Really?" she said.

"Oh yes," he replied, narrowly skimming past a scantily clad couple's grinding hips, "we have all the usual nighttime goblins and ghouls." Merfin glanced around the dance floor with a theatrical air before meeting her eyes. "Even in the politest of society."

Whether or not she could trust him, Sarah decided she could enjoy his humor for a few minutes until the song ended. Yet, the music seemed to continuously swell and cresendo. Although she enjoyed the small talk, she felt bravery swell in her throat. "Might I ask, my lord," she said, lowering her chin with the best courtly demeanor she could imagine, "why you wanted to dance with me?"

"Did you think her highness put me up to the task?" he replied in all seriousness before breaking into a reserved grin. "No, no. I asked the princess to introduce us."

Distracted, she tripped, jerking hard on his hand. Sarah bit the inside of her lip, hoping he couldn't read the thoughts etched across her face. He asked for her? "But why?" she asked, recovering her balance.

Merfin steadied her. "On the surface of course, you are a lovely young lady."

"On the surface…"

He laughed again, "Oh, I'm sure you are quite hideous on the inside: vile, conceited and all." He brushed a loose curl off her forehead with gentlemanly tenderness. His hand departed before she even had time to wince, but the sensation still sent anxious ripples into her stomach. "I wondered what power you had over them, naturally. And what I might find hidden behind your enchanting mortal eyes."

The answer didn't include any new information per say, but she detected a deeper sense behind his words. "Are their other humans here?" she probed, quickly amending, "other mortals?"

"Cheeky thing you are," he teased with that elegant smile. Merfin signified the rest of the room with a nod of his head. "Mortals are not to be found here in the high circles of Navarre, but," he paused, gauging her before sending her into a dizzying turn, "how much do you know of my people?"

"Not much," Sarah confessed as the breath hissed out of her. She whipped around the dizzyingly tight circle twice. He set her off-balance. "I've been trying to learn," not, of course, that she'd been particularly successful.

"Many creatures here are in fact mortal, mythical as they seem to you."

Sarah thought of her friends, before distracting herself with thoughts of goblins she didn't care for. "I know, but I meant…" The music began to fade; she caught the hawkeyed king's gaze over Merfin's shoulder. Jareth scowled at the back of the other man's head. She needed to hurry…

"You meant others like yourself." His pause pained her. "There are no others like you dear Lady Sarah; the humans among us enjoy far less privilege."

No time for subtly now, she thought, holding the Goblin King's gaze. "What do you mean?" Sarah stammered.

"The High Prince takes your victory to make you a worthwhile bride- fitting since none of us have ever succeeded in playing his labyrinthine game." No longer warm, his gaze suddenly pricked her skin. Her eyes left Jareth's, flitting back to Merfin's. His dark pupils bored into hers, frightening her even without a specific discernable threat. With immediate remembrance, Sarah tried to break away, afraid to loose herself in his eyes as she had in Draco's. She found the crowd, swirling faster than ever before…and completely different from any she'd seen at the ball. "No my dear," Merfin's voice cut through her initial panic, "Most humans here are commoners, or worse. You have a very unique position here." She'd lost sight of Jareth; they seemed to have flown across the vast chamber.

Sarah looked up, confirming her fears. Draco stood less than ten feet away, dancing with Cosette pulled against him. Her violet dress hung low across her breasts, revealing a terribly uncomfortable blush. Her sweet smile contorted in a pained grimace under his hands. Sarah thought she saw a green bruise rising on the other girl's neck. The other courtiers laughed around them. Sarah shook her head, hoping to clear false images, but her vision didn't change.

She'd lost track of her feet and forgotten what her partner was saying. "The Goblin King is wise to choose a once-mortal wife," Merfin continued. His voice roared in her ears. "You'll have the legitimate sons the High King will lack…"

Sarah gasped. The room around her seemed to still as she felt Draco's eyes on her back. She pressed Jareth's ring into her knuckles, but the comfort she took in its presence faded when he pushed Cosette aside and strode towards her. The music reached a final crescendo; the chord resolved. Merfin bowed the conclusion of the dance with a new, wicked grin. Sarah couldn't even spare a look of sympathy for her friend, abandoned in Lord Corinth's arms. Draco stole her eyes. He reached for her hand.

"Come Sarah," a different voice grated in her ear. She sensed a familiar ripple in her spine as Jareth claimed her. "We're going home."


	28. Innocent Deaths

Author's Notes:

Special thanks to Solea. You always make me smile with your in-depth reviews and force me to address difficult issues. Granted, as in this case, I'm not always happy with the results, but I enjoy the challenge.

Persephone 28

Innocent Deaths

Trembling, she followed him out of the chamber without a word, well aware of every highly-arched brow rising in their wake. Sarah swallowed hard, fighting the continual dizziness buzzing in her ears. She barely noticed as they left the crowded chamber, stepping into the night air. She drank in eager lungfuls, thankful for the crisp new oxygen after inhaling the heady, delirious perfumes in Navarre's court.

But the Goblin King cut her relief short by handing her up into a sudden-appearing carriage. She stared out the window as he sat down beside her, recovering her senses. At the driver's command, the horses stepped off into a smooth trot. Pressing her nose to the windowpane, she stared through the glass. They sat in silence for nearly an hour while each regained their bearings. Sarah watched the nine circles of Navarre fade into the distance. Then, she turned to her companion with the obvious question:

"Why are you riding with me? You didn't before."

He rested a gloved hand on her thigh, delighted to sit at her side and find her asking a question besides the obvious one he assumed would be on her mind: _Why was he sitting by her? _ He found strangely divine delight at her simple proximity on the same carriage couch. Jareth watched the drooping tendrils of her hair flit and bounce on her temples with a contented smile for a moment before responding. "Someone needs to travel with you," he explained. "I see no need to hurry home."  
She watched her brow wrinkle in the reflecting glass. "You're not purposefully offending the high king by not deigning to travel?"

Jareth laughed lightly as she quietly slung his words back at him. "Forgive me if I merely wanted to enjoy your company Sarah." She hiccupped softly, daintily covering her mouth. His lip quirked to the side. "And as I said, we have no reason to hurry home."

She released her breath in a quiet, unobtrusive huff. Finally turning to look at him, Sarah lowered her chin before meeting his eyes. "May I ask a question?" her voice hovered on the nervous and soft, but she concealed its edge.

"My dear, you already have." He felt the intensity of her eyes, hot on his cool ones. "But of course…" one gloved hand gestured as if to pull words from her tongue.

She intended to start with something innocuous, but she remembered how frequently he answered more than a few of her questions. Naturally, the least innocuous one leaked out of her mouth first. "I know you plan on forcing me to marry you," she looked into her lap, voice very nearly submissive. She swallowed, stammering, "in the fullest sense of 'marriage.' but Lord Merfin said…and you said, about a powerful heir and…" she clapped her mouth shut.

"What did he tell you?" Jareth asked with one eyebrow raised, hiding his curiosity behind patience.

She flushed crimson and stared out the window, pursing her lips. "Basically, that you would use me to have lots of baby boys that the high king can't have." Outside, dark clouds threatened rain over lonely, new-sown, spring fields. Tiny droplets misted the window pane as the carriage rumbled along.

"And my mother told me that I was not the type to want a large family." Jareth bit out a laugh before thinking briefly of his own insensitivity. "I must assure you to trust her over Draco my dear."

Glancing over her shoulder, Sarah studied him. She didn't bother to voice her obvious objections, but unfortunately, the quaver in her voice gave them away. "You couldn't possibly be anyone's father."

He shrugged. "People change with time." Lightly, he caught her shoulder, turning her to face him again. "I would rather care most deeply for one, or two, then any sort of large brood."

She stared at his doublet. Her mind positively couldn't wrap itself around that. Fiancée or not, her hatred merely quieted, but in no way diminished. He did not care for anyone, let alone the innocent. Sarah tried a different angle. "And because I'm human…"

"You are considerably more fertile than the women here, yes. Even at your tender age." He smiled at the charming red blotches spreading on her neck. "But pay that no mind." Jareth slid a few inches closer to her on the bench.

"Is that why the high king is so…," she searched for a word, mentally tracing the embroidery across his chest, "interested in me?"

"You may call a spade a spade when alone with me." His hand crept to her shoulder. His thumb took to tracing a small circle against the ridge of her collar bone. "Your human fertility is not an unwanted asset, I'm sure, but I imagine they desire your spirit and presumed power over me even more."

She was getting answers. His touch tickled, sending little shivers up her spine. The girl forced herself to sit still. "I don't have any secrets of the Labyrinth," she confessed, a trifle ashamed.

"They don't need to know that."

"I don't really know how I did it," Sarah continued, slowly tracing his forearm and elbow with her eyes, looking past his hand to his face. "I had to, so I did. Simple. Sometimes life is just like that. I just pushed. Not that it was easy," she added, not wanting to hurt his ego. Perhaps, if she could restore his pride, he'd let her go- but confessing to happenstance success didn't seem like the right method.

His fingers crept nimbly over her shoulders, creating a loose cage. "Indeed. Sometimes we do what we must."

Sarah hated the way he twisted her words. "That's not what I meant."

"Nevertheless…"

She didn't know what to say when everything came back to his victory. Rain pelted the roof, thumping and twinking against the various surface materials. Sarah wished she could lean back and enjoy the odd musicality of it; his fingers pulled her ever-so-slightly deeper into his arms. "Couldn't you just sit across from me?" she sputtered.

"No."

She tried to get up and escape to the other bench, but he caught her wrist. When she sat still, he returned to the picture-perfect devoted lover. She hated him- but didn't say a word in anger. Shouting couldn't possibly help when he could physically over-power her. "What's going to happen when we get back to the Labyrinth? The same sequence of staying confined to my room, forced to see you at meals and begging for a few little pleasures? You wouldn't even let me see Nightengale's filly again before we left- I've got to name her."

"When we return _home_…" he stressed the word, but paused to consider. "Of course you may see your horse as often as you please," he pressed his mouth dangerously close to her ear, tickling and whispering as the rain dampened the sound of his voice. "We shall go to the gardens, now that the roses are abloom."

"Joy," Sarah replied in monotone, leaning far enough away to avoid the itchy heat of his breath without upsetting him- like walking a terrible tight-rope. Then the carriage jolted over a bump or through a puddle, she didn't know, but she lost her balance, slipping from the cushion.

With a little half smile, Jareth recovered himself and drew his bride into his arms. "Why my darling, what do you want?" Jareth pushed a curl off her forehead with his free hand, closing the embrace, half lifting her into his lap, eternally intrigued by that startled pout. "I told you at the outset, you need only ask," he purred. "What do you wish of me?"

Of course, freedom didn't count. Pointedly, she turned back to the window. "It seems pointless to _just ask_, since you're always going to shoot me down."

His voice hardened. "Try me." She let him gather her into his arms. Jareth rested his head atop hers.

"Well…" From his contented, sonorous sigh she guessed his contended mood granted her the best possible chance to get something…But what? Given the opportunity to ask, her mind flooded with possibilities; they tangled in her head. What could she actually get? "I'd like to see more of the Underground, if I'm going to live in this world forever. I don't like feeling so lost and clueless." She felt him nod slightly. "I want to know about this place."

"There is much for you to learn, though I think I can satisfy your curiosity at home for the time being," Jareth drawled. She hoped he meant only the most literal incarnation of that statement. "The other kingdoms are unlikely to welcome me just now."

A partial victory then, especially considering his stunt at the coronation; she forced the muscles in her back to loosen. The fledgling conversation seemed to head in her favor. "But you'll think about taking me somewhere?" she queried, prying at his cryptic phrasing. "And 'satisfy my curiosity' in other, academic ways?"

The king chuckled deep in his throat. Sarah felt her scalp vibrate. "Kiss me."Her breath hitched in her throat; she swallowed, willing to try a diversion to keep him acquiescing and promising. Turning over her shoulder, she pressed her lips to his cheek in a flash, evading any possibility of capture.

_Quid pro quo. _Jareth grinned, stroking her hair and separating Sophia's carefully structured curls. How he adored Sarah's games! Of course, he could have caught her. If she'd stop hiding from him, he'd surely entertain her with the delights of the Underground. If she asked, he'd offer her a bargain every time. "What else?" he added, calmly devilish.

Shock soared through her veins to her head, resulting in the flush Sarah hated so much. "I just want to do things," she stammered, listening to his slow breathing. "I don't want to sit in my room reading all the time. I want to ride the horses and explore."

"Under consideration, of course. Now that your permanent fever has left."

Sarah chose to ignore his poisoned barb. "I want Alexander to teach me more dances…"

"I shall teach you," he interrupted. "We can spend the time together."

"Then I get to see friends whenever I want."

"No." He stated the word so casually, squeezing her back against his chest in an iron-clad embrace. "When you become queen, they will be too far beneath you. In fact, they already are."

Sarah squirmed in his embrace. She pressed her elbows into his biceps in warning. "Let go," she pleaded, dominant confidence waning.

"I repeatedly tell you to ask my favor," he growled in her ear before kissing the lobe. "Never order me. You may find I comply to your good will, my contrary angel."

Without any command from her brain, her entire body went limp. "You never ask me anything," she sneered. "Never."

He sighed over-dramatically. "Both you and I have had a long hard night. Let's not fight. No need to get excited." He squared his shoulders behind hers, placing a light kiss against her temple. "Our positions are indeed different. You must respect that."

Sarah lowered her chin, eyes smoldering behind delicate lashes. She tried to keep her voice quiet, supplicant and demure. "What am I supposed to do? Beg?"

"Asking might make a good beginning," he murmured into her hair. "One I shall likewise remember."

"Promise?" she asked, even though she didn't imagine his word to mean anything anymore, she hoped it might give her a fighting chance.

"Yes," he whispered, head hovering over hers. It would have to do.

They sat in silence, with no more conversation but the creaks of the carriage bumping over the road, for hours on end. By no virtue belonging to either of them, sheer exhaustion crept in and she fell into restless sleep trapped in his arms.

xxxx

They arrived at the castle in the early dawn hours of morning. Dimly, Sarah felt careful hands guide her back to her familiar room in the castle's east wing. Jareth retreated to frame the threshold as she reemerged from preparing herself for bed. The light of the rising sun streaked through his hair around his black silhouette.

He stepped to her side as she climbed into bed, adjusting the blankets around her shoulders. "I will meet you tomorrow for brunch and a stroll," he said quietly before adding, "If I may."

He tried, even half-heartedly. Sarah nodded, unable to envision a better situation in her depressed state, at least for the moment. At least she knew a few of the twists and turns here.

A soft, quick knock sounded at the door before Jareth could continue. "Enter," he snapped, staring over his shoulder.

Gilda peered around the door with watery eyes. "Mistress," she wiped tears from her eyes with a chubby fist, hastily correcting herself when she saw the king. "Your Majesty, I have terrible news for Mi'Lady."

Sarah didn't see him nod; she sat up, pushing the blankets aside. "Gilda, what's wrong? Tell me!"

"I couldn't send for you but…Portia and her sister, your little wee felines…"

"Demeter," Sarah supplied the name, "What happened?"

Gilda wrinkled her nose, scrunching her face to keep her expression under control. "They're ill. A fever I think; Demeter's never been very strong…"

"Sarah, you must sleep now," Jareth interrupted.

She glared at him, but kept her tone even again. Taking a small steady voice was beginning to feel like less of an accomplishment and more like a normal occurrence. "This is important to me."

He nodded, retreating half a step into the doorframe. Shadows fell across his face.

Gilda took a deep breath before continuing, "…I donna think she's going to make it."

Sarah winced. "Are they down in the stables?"

"Yes mistress. I've kept them warm and cared for."

She looked to the king, choosing her words carefully. "I need to go down there. I know it's late; well, early I guess, but I need to. Please, may I?"

xxxx

The sun hovered delicately over the eastern horizon when Sarah reached her treasured pets. She didn't even have time to look in on Nightengale and her newly dubbed foal. The kittens rested in a box in the tack room. Portia perked up right away once she saw Sarah. With her bright eyes, she would have looked healthy and nearly ready for mischief, if not for her sister. Demeter lacked her vibrant spark. She died in Sarah's arms before the sunlight graced the outskirts of the labyrinth.


	29. Ad Astra Per Aspera

Persephone 29

"Ad Astra per Aspera"

She cried into Nightengale's mane for nearly an hour before he returned.

"Sarah…" He stood outside the stall, gloved hands resting on the door frame. "When she returned to her duties this morning, Gilda told me the little one passed." Jareth opened the door, studying her backlit shadow as he entered. He fought the stress of reordering his castle from his voice, deliberately softening himself for her, and remembering his recent vow. "Are you ready to return to your room?" he asked.

"You were going to kill her in the first place." Sarah twisted locks of the mare's mane into a tiny, slick braid. "What do you care if she died?"

"You're upset," he noted.

"So? You don't care. About me or Demeter."

"Pradosh is not my first horse." He cleared his throat. "You never had felines before…?"

"Just Merlin. Karen and Toby are allergic to cats," she replied in monotone. The filly nuzzled her shoulder, seemingly trying to console her.

The slump in her shoulders pained him. "And what did you name the baby?" he prompted, hungry for her enthusiasm.

"Aspera," Sarah remarked with one brief glance at the sleeping filly. Latin had been one of her favorite classes. Despite intense troubles with the new grammar, her teacher had made the struggles worthwhile with his wisdom and funny stories. She sighed, stroking the mare's coat.

_Ad astra per aspera (1)._ He frowned, stepping to her side. "You must be tired. Sleep would do you good."

She shrugged his hand off her shoulder. "In a little while, maybe." If only he would leave her alone. She couldn't grieve while haunted by his domineering shadow.

"Sarah, you will…" he cleared his throat and paused.

She pressed her face into the mare's coat, rubbing her cheek against her velvety coat, but the sensation lacked familiar pleasure. "Please just let me be," she whispered, pressing her eyes shut.

Jareth nodded. "As you wish." He bent to brush a kiss against her cheek before turning on his heal and shimmering out of sight.

x x x x

Instead of returning to the castle, Sarah took leave of her freedom to explore the courtyards and gardens. The breeze stinging her already reddened eyes distracted her from her customary tears; the excitement of trespassing restored her spirits.

Wandering, she found the rose garden she and the king visited so long ago. At the time, without understanding the full weight of her imprisonment, part of her very soul thrilled at the bright buds. Part of her waited for the brilliant blooms and looked on the Underground as a miracle of scientific faith. She'd thought to escape her captor, physically or through simple avoidance, finding pleasure in the magical kingdom before her, even as she scorned its ruler. After all, dreams came true. Since she'd believed in magic and fantasy, surely, the universe was rewarding her, even perverting her prize. Childish or not, she no longer harbored such delusions. Clichés didn't matter anymore; she felt her heart withering with cold, black rot. She left the garden without a backwards glance.

Slowly meandering, she worked her way to the exterior castle gates, vaguely searching for her friends, but afraid to call. He might hear and swoop her freedom away. Outside, the goblin city stretched before her, wide and sparkling with color. She'd never seen it full of life, and stood peering at it until she lost track of time. Various sellers haggled over headless chickens, square watermelons, tinselly gem stones, tires, and other human junk. She nearly had to bite back a laugh at the goblin's strange treasures; in the dealings she spied on, an odd mortal candy bar wrapper compared in value with a three-legged dog, honeysuckle branches, and some tacky colored-glass jewelry. Wiping the salty residue from her eyes with her knuckles, Sarah stepped past the repaired giant robot and left the gates.

Suddenly, he appeared, pushing her back into the mossy wall. "And where, are you, going?" Jareth hissed, punctuating each little phrase.

She swallowed, staring at his gloved hands on her shoulders. "I've never been here before. I'd like to see the market. You told me I could go out…"

"I told you to ask me."

"You weren't here," she shrugged, throwing up her hands as her voice cracked.

"We shall return to the castle now." Jareth offered an arm, which despite the grim set of her mouth, Sarah accepted.

They took two steps towards the castle before Sarah halted. "Couldn't I go out into the city? I'd like to see it, and take my mind off the little ones…," she lowered her eyes to his chest. "You could take me."

Raising her chin, he paused to consider, studying her face. Sarah stared back into his wild, impassive eyes, wishing she had something to bother hiding from his penetrating gaze. He studied her pupils, but found no deceit. "Very well," he murmured, deciding not to question her motives. "But neither of us is suitably attired for a quiet, inconspicuous stroll in the city, and I would like to see you better rested."

"The market…" she protested weakly, glancing down at her ruined black ball gown. The garment's demise would have brought a thrill of joy to her heart if not for the inconvenience it caused.

Jareth shook her shoulder lightly. "We shall make the excursion this afternoon my dear, after you take lunch and a rest." He smoothed a lock of chocolate hair off her cheek, pleased by the return of her color. "Sophia is installed by your chambers," he continued wryly. "I am quite sure you will not even need summon her to assist you."

She mouthed a wordless thank-you.

"Then it's a date," he replied, mocking her mortal courtship sensibilities and distilling her happiness. The simple phrase on Brent's lips had once made her heart leap. Instead, she'd make do with quiet hatred. Sarah turned to head up the path to the castle, but he caught her wrist.

Jareth pulled her into their practiced, agreed-upon embrace, finding he didn't mind the burgeoning familiarity of the gesture. He parted her lips just as far as she'd let him, inhaling his bride's precious innocence, before whisking them back to the castle.

x x x x

She found the market even more delightful up close. They strolled through shops and stalls almost like any other pair of lovers, dressed simply despite Sophia's intense desire to beautify the maiden for her 'little date.' Most of the city goblins didn't seem to recognize their king in his simple breeches, high boots, and open black shirt. Several gave them strange looks, but Sarah couldn't tell if their faces scrunched permanently, or in particular curiosity about the couple.

Sarah couldn't stop touching everything in the market place, with the exception of the slimier food products. He chuckled lightly at her insatiable curiosity, but she ignored him. She wondered over the baby animals, fabrics, odds and ends, and jewelry. Jareth kept a light grip on her elbow, preventing her from staying too far. He bought her anything that appeared to inspire interest.

The king carried a satchel of silly glass jewels, a leather-bound journal, goose feather pens, clay paints, sheets of brown paper, and wondered why he hadn't taken her to the goblin market sooner. Even if money were an object, he'd spend anything to make her smile. They tasted bizarre delicacies, from sticky buns to strange pink goo. Sarah wrinkled her nose charmingly at a pair of roasted eyeball stalks, but daringly took a tiny nibble of the breaded stem.

Even so, he supposed she did not laugh as much as she used to. He noticed she took longer to smile. He missed the dimples and freckles on her checks and the light in her eyes, but he supposed she was maturing into a queen. The transition shouldn't worry him, nor that she didn't pull so vainly to flee him. Rather, her acceptance flattered him.

They took quiet a quiet dinner together that evening, in a silence he considered casual. He chose an informal dining room in the west wing near his private suite, lit by the fading sun, with a small round table graced in yellow braches. Still practically bursting from her experimental eating, Sarah sipped her soup slowly, careful not to slurp from her spoon the way her father once scolded her about. She kept her eyes down, letting her mind empty and tacitly ignoring him. She focused on the strange light fruity flavor flooding her mouth. After dinner, he sipped his wine, casually swirling the crimson nectar, as he watched her tackle a mountain of pudding, strawberries, and cream. She didn't make it past the rim of the bowl before pushing the desert aside.

"Finished already?" he asked, raising one eyebrow.

She nodded, monosyllabic, "Yes."

"I must see to the castle this evening," he said, setting down the empty glass. "I hope you're feeling better?"

"I'm fine."

"Fine?"

"A little tired," she conceded. "I'm trying not to think about….about Demeter."

"Distraction is sometimes appropriate," he murmured, forcing his eyes away from hers. The little room made a charming salon, with the dust cleared away.

"Yes." Picking up her spoon again, Sarah squished a strawberry into the pudding, burying treasure, she imagined. "I really enjoyed the marketplace." She swallowed. "Thank you for escorting me. And the gifts."

"You're welcome." Jareth noticed her slightly pursed lips and hidden eyes. He rested his elbows on the table, leaning over the table with a feral gleam glinting in his eyes. "And what, my dear, are you wanting to ask me?"

She wished she could mask her face the way he did, or at least detect whatever facial tick constantly gave her away. Her chin lowered of its own volition, leaving her to pear up through her lashes. "I'd like to go back to the market again tomorrow."

He adored that particular expression, almost granting her request instantly. Hesitantly, Jareth shook his head. "I have considerably less power to keep tabs on you outside the castle grounds. The process is," he spun a crystal, "significantly more difficult."

The silvery orb danced over his palm before spinning into vapor. "I just want a chance to explore on my own. I know my way around now, and well, you do kind of stand out." To sooth her potential fury, Sarah swiped a fingerful of nerve-soothing chocolate from her abandoned desert. Sucking the pudding off her finger, she imagined the sugar bolstering her nerves.

"I apologize, my darling girl, but I refuse to risk you."

She sighed, biting her lip. "What risk?"

She would back away from the threats of Draco. "Though my kingdom may seem safe, other magic users can penetrate it."

"I think you're a little paranoid," she muttered.

"We can arrange another excursion tomorrow afternoon, if you like."

Not expecting anything better, Sarah nodded, lowering her eyes back to the melting chocolate. Though she'd never considered herself anything more than a casual artist, desperately boring times called for desperate measures. She needed the fresh air, and her personal space. Perhaps she'd take her new things to the horrible garden and try to paint: roses, thorns and all.

XXXX

Initially, he wondered if her fevers or some other form of illness returned, but Sarah never sickened. The humans above might have said she fell into a funk, acquired a case of the blues, or mean reds. Initially, he dismissed the changes in her attitude as maturation.

In the early weeks of summer, while the castle bloomed around them, he took the girl for his near-constant companion and pleasure. He hid her from the dregs she called friends, stealing her away for himself. He left Sarah to her own devices only while spending long hours writing letters to others concerned by his brother; when seeing to private, complicated matters of his domain; and while she slept. When she chose to read, he invited her into his study to enjoy her still presence, curled up on the couch on the opposite side of the room. He escorted her to the library, finding new and intriguing books for her, but she stopped looking at the tops of the shelves. They attempted to play chess a few times, but the game bored her to a sullen pout and inspired so much of his personal competitive drive that Jareth detested himself. He taught her to navigate the twisting corridors of the castle and its grounds and how to find the gates, although he strictly forbade her to leave alone. When they sat by the fire in his study at night, he answered a few of her gradually decreasing questions and asked about her home, but she seemed to have lost interest in remembering.

To help her feel at home in his world, he made Sophia her drill sergeant in table manners and court etiquette. Sarah adjusted to the crash course in queenly behavior extremely quickly, revealing her natural grace even when she struggled to cut a tough piece of meat without changing her countenance, hated each wine vintage they found for her, or sent a crystal goblet flying to the floor. She accepted Sophia's constant rebukes in good humor, especially when they made Jareth's head ache. Dismissing his former nurse from his dining room delighted Jareth almost as thoroughly as savoring well-mannered private meals with his bride. Sarah glowed with cool, quiet, and divinely royal confidence--at least when selecting the proper fork--eternally improved from her Navarre debut mere weeks previously. She still kept her eyes low, fixated on her plate and her task, but surely, he could fan her pride sufficiently with time and praise. He swelled with pride whenever he looked down at the lovely, acquiescent, intelligent creature gracing his arm. He possessed more than enough pride for the two of them.

At Sarah's request, he enlisted Alexander's assistance in 'academic' matters of dance and decorum. When the older man could be fetched away from his duties nursing Navarre, he spent afternoons teaching Sarah a whirlwind of new court dances. She wanted to be able to keep up with the guests at any social function, to avoid petty vulnerabilities, he knew. Sometimes, Jareth watched, jokingly claiming to ensure that Alexander didn't steal his prize. Alexander afforded him a chuckle; Sarah did not, but the corners of her mouth still stretched up when the silver-haired fae spun her around the floor. On those occasions when Jareth stole her hand, she focused on her feet and his strong lead, as if afraid to fail an exam. He watched her suck in her cheeks, hollowing her whole face in concentration.

Once the filly weaned, the king and his bride began riding together in the fading heat after nearly silent lunches together. Sarah took considerably less pride in Nightengale's progress than he expected, and even less in her own return to the saddle. He told her how well the mare bloomed under her care; Nightengale had never experienced precise, consistent training. Her tongue seemed to slip away too. One afternoon they rode to the crimson hills overlooking the Labyrinth, crowded with writhing trees and unkempt grass. He asked her if she remembered the spot, hoping to goad her into attacking him, since he almost missed her sharp slaps and cries of hatred. But Sarah merely nodded, replying that yes, she remembered, and turned her mare down the hill. He and Pradosh followed the weeds parting in her wake. They continued the trail ride in their usual silence.

Every night, he left her under Sophia's care with their practiced kiss. She always closed her eyes tight in preparation, furrowing her temples. Wrapping himself around her waist, Jareth caught her lips, afraid to extinguish too much of her exquisite sweetness. Each night, she froze in his arms, breathing shallowly with goose bumps spread across her shoulders. She never dared break away until he released her, nuzzling his goodnight into her hair.

(1) Ad Astra Per Aspera: To the stars through thorns, To greatness through difficulty.


	30. Ice

I intended not to leave a note, but this feels like a necessary warning.

This chapter is dark. It scared me a little when I first wrote it. And though the events of this chapter may seem out of the blue, they've been in the works for, checks calendar, about four years. And tomorrow, I'm off to hip surgery, no food after midnight and all that jazz.

Persephone 30

Ice

One afternoon at the end of June, Alexander met Sarah for her ride instead of Jareth. Settled into routine, Sarah usually brushed and tacked Nightengale by herself, enjoying the quiet time in the stables, so she remained unaware of the switch until the last moment. Reveling in the time to herself, Sarah hummed a forgotten tune under her breath while checking on the barn cats, looking to Demeter's sister Portia. The king gave her considerably more freedom, but refused to let her see Hoggle and her friends, or move her kitten into the castle permanently. Sarah clutched the teenaged cat to her chest, kissing the top of her head and burying her nose in the silky fur while Nightengale enjoyed a brief snack of oats.

"Good afternoon," Alexander called into the dim stable.

Portia bounced away, scampering after a dust bunny. "What are you doing here?" Sarah asked with a tiny smile.

"The king finds himself occupied, but thought he might send a substitute," he swept his trademark bow. "I'm afraid I haven't spent much time around horses of late, or on them anyway."

"He told me the dinner party was tomorrow…?" she queried, wrinkling her nose.

Alexander smiled, stroking Nightengale's neck. "No worries my dear; you are indeed correct. Jareth is merely seeing to some last minute details."

"Oh," she said, loosing the curious light in her eyes. She picked up a curry comb before remembering that she had already groomed the horse. Sarah took a deep breath, nibbling her lip.

Alexander turned from the mare to the girl, patting her shoulder instead. "My dear, we have prepared you well, and even so, your guests will excuse any minor flaws made by such an inexperienced hostess."

Sarah sniffed, dropping the curry back into the grooming box. The brush made a very satisfying plunk. "He could have picked friendlier guests."

"Adele is very friendly…" began Alexander. His eyes swelled as the always did when he thought about Adele, Sarah noticed. She imagined his face lighting like that with the thought of her until the day he died.

"But her husband is not."

He inclined his head to the side. "True."

Grimacing, Sarah nudged the brush box away with her foot. She tightened Nightengale's girth before answering, pausing to look at her image reflected in her ruby ring. "His mother…the queen just seems to look through my soul." Releasing the billet, she leaned against the saddle instead of turning around. "It makes me uncomfortable," she added with a long sigh.

"My dear child," with a soft touch, Alexander turned her to face him. "If you can keep me on a horse, I'll make sure you survive the dinner party," he promised solemnly.

Of course, she didn't believe him for a moment, but his cheek lightened her spirits. "I think we'd better find you a nice, quiet horse."

"Alexander told me you were working out seating arrangements for the party?" Sarah queried, looking down the hall to her own room before closing the door to Jareth's study. She made sure the door scarcely clicked.

"Xander meddles too much," Jareth snapped, shoving a pile of parchment across his desk. "Did you enjoy your ride my dear?"

She hesitated by the empty fireplace, tracing the lines of mortar between the stones in the mantle. "Nightengale went well."

He stood and crossed to her, resting a gloved hand on her shoulder. "Are the canter departs improving?"

Sarah nodded.

"Picking up her right lead?"

She shrugged, bracing herself. "Sometimes."

He leaned down to formerly greet his bride, teasing her lips apart. Stealing the upper, he sucked her closer, wrapping an arm around her waist.

With a startled gasp at the odd tactic, Sarah stepped back. "Stop. That's too much," she whispered.

Bowing his head, Jareth clasped his hands at the small of his back. "Of course pet." He indulged the heavy silence, leaving the ball in her court.

Turning back to the mantle, she cleared her throat. "You're really working on seating arrangements?" she asked, her voice edged in disbelief.

"I am."

She swallowed slowly, facing him. "I thought I was supposed to do that, since I'm the hostess." She wondered if her lessons made her vaguely competent, or if he'd intended those as a complete joke as well. Living as a captive queen was one thing, but she took an inkling of pride in understanding her new role.

"Little girl," he chided with a shrewd smirk. "Doubting my faith in you?"

"A bit," she conceded, folding her arms across her chest.

Jareth placed a hand on both of her shoulders, resting his forehead against hers. "Please, don't worry."

The temptation to spit in his face rose unbidden, fading just as quickly into her normal protective numbness. Instead, she dropped her hands to her sides, releasing her fists. "You never asked me to do it."

"I intended to have you look it over," he said wryly. "For the experience, without the pressure. You are not yet ready for over-much responsibility."

"I suppose. I hoped I was ready."

"Our party is too politically important." Jareth shook his head. "You are too nervous, too afraid." He escorted her to the desk, pulled out his chair for her, sitting Sarah down. "What do you think darling?"

His fingers stroked through her hair with a murmuring laugh; she suppressed the shiver running up her spine. "I can't think," she interjected, studying the seating arrangements. Knowingly, his hand retreated to her shoulder. Sarah licked her lips. "Are you going to tell me," her eyes flicked to his, "exactly what is at stake?"

Jareth stood close behind, feeling his thighs brush her back. "Most of the guests dislike my dear brother Draco. Myself, as you know, my mother…"

"I know."

He frowned, continuing the list and pointing at names. "These minor nobles support me, these few are tempted to, because Draco enjoys ruining the borrowed land he hunts on."

"They've seen his true colors then?"

"Precisely." Smiling up at his bride, Jareth crouched beside the chair. "He considers himself a sportsman." He rocked back on his heeled boots. One side of his mouth lifted as he watched the tiny furrows forming around her temples as she concentrated.

Her eyes scanned the list, committing the names and the locations of their seats to memory. Lady Adele's name brought her to a sudden stop. "What about Adele and Lor…Lord Corinth?" she asked, lifting her chin. "Alexander called him the Dragon's Apprentice."

"He also called the lady the dove," Jareth nodded. He narrowed his uneven eyes even though he admired her memory. "Essentially, I have childhood faith in Adele."

"Meaning?"

"She plays her cards close to her chest, but I trust her to pry into her husband's affairs just enough to ensure the greater good."

The phrase 'greater good' had just left the Goblin King's mouth—her captor's mouth. Overcome with the revelation and the irony, Sarah felt like she'd just swallowed something large and sour. "That's why she married him and not Alexander?" she choked out. The extent to which the Underground perverted her notions of the fairytale; good, and evil merely strengthened each day, right along with the oppressive pressure below her ribcage.

"As good an understanding as any," he replied smoothly.

"She's spying?"

"Well," Jareth drawled. "She loves her husband too."

Sarah didn't bother repressing her grimace. She wouldn't have been able to hold still if she tried; the chill jolted through her body, slicing like a knife. Silence hung in the air again as she recovered her breath. If Adele, who she admired so much since their first meeting, could willing allow herself to love, rather, could chose to love a monster, Sarah simply imagined herself doomed. Granted, she wasn't unfamiliar with her despair. The knot below her ribs tightened. But she still wanted to understand her role in the world, and she embraced any process that rid the Underground of Draco. "What do I need to do?" she asked after a long pause, avoiding the king's cold stare.

"After you complete the preparations, play the good hostess and keep your senses sharp."

"Just that?"

"And fawn on your lover-lord; fan my ego." He chuckled, seeming as oblivious to her distress as always. Sarah's eyes widened; he raised an eyebrow. "And please, laugh at my jokes."

XXXX

Although Jareth rarely slept, finding the process unnecessary unless he was bored, injured, or ill, sleep became a complete non-option while scheming against his brother. With Draco's assent to the throne, he needed to carefully orchestrate every maneuver, no matter how small. Most of the general populace believed that Draco's firm hand would restore the Underground to its former glory, but he intended to gather the select few who suspected the insanity behind Draco's severity. While their father had been brutal, he remained fair until the end of his life when his mind slowly disintegrated. Jareth embraced his father's death as a blessing. He tolerated the interim period of terminating chaos while the Underground tried to mourn the king they no longer missed. Now, he plotted. Planning a dinner party seemed like an easy way to covertly assemble fellow dissenters. Planning a dinner party with his mother and an entourage of servants was perhaps easy, but the castle beyond the Labyrinth simply wasn't intended for high glamour. Still, maintaining perfect propriety was the last of his worries.

He kept all hours in his study, calling on Sophia for advice when possible, and delegating small tasks to his lady. Sarah seemed to enjoy feeling useful; at the very least, he caught at least one tiny flicker of a smile around her mouth each day. And the time she spent sitting in his study neatly copying his messy notes, check-lists, menu-cards, letters, or invitations in newly practiced script gave him plenty of time to hunt her cheer. Her presence became the only bright spot in his sleepless-dreamless day. He wished he wasn't so sharp with her, or so condescending when she made a mistake, but he never apologized for his temper.

Her old self would have stomped into the study, but she merely closed the door less silently then normal. The heavy oak shut with a muted slap. Jareth didn't look up from his scratching quill. "I was late having that wine brought up…just by a few minutes," she said to the back of his head. "Some of the goblins broke a few of the bottles."

"Of course, I forgive you my dear." He always rose when she entered, pretending to be a gentleman. He signed the letter before straightening his spine.

She walked towards him, caught between irritation and confusion. "I wasn't asking for forgiveness, I just wanted to tell you what happened."

"Sarah…" he leaned down, brushing a kiss against her forehead as his fingers brushed her temple. She stood deadly still, imagining how his gesture would have been incredibly romantic in any other circumstances.

"I didn't do anything wrong." She balled her hands into fists; he tipped her chin up to his face. "It's not my fault."

"Then forgive me," he replied darkly, "and hope the party goes well."

_Add does-not-perform-well-under-pressure to control-freak_, she thought. "You should just take a break, a rest," she said instead, deepening the traces of concern in her voice. Looking up at him, she noticed the signs of stress wearing on the presumably immortal man. Lines highlighted the dark circles around his eyes; his inhuman glow seemed diminished.

His smile lightened his features, hinting at the boyish-prince between the malicious king. But she knew better. "I lack the time my dear," he said, "but I thank you for the offer."

Sarah stared at her feet, ignoring the way his intended teasing made her insides squirm. "Fine then."

Jareth lowered his gaze to catch her eyes, offering his hand. "Would you dance with me for a minute or two?" he murmured.

Silently, Sarah accepted his offered hand, feeling comfortable enough to indulge him even as she avoided his eyes. She counted the steps in her head without music, ignoring his humming, spiraling under his arm like a leaf on the breeze. At least she'd know her steps at the party. For that reason alone, she almost wished they were having a grand ball instead of a quiet gathering. She complied, with his lead and his dominance, quietly ignoring the drowning sensation.

He slowed the dance, pulling her closer. His hands crept across the planes of her back, delighting in goose pimples he could feel through his gloves. Delicately, he drew her head to his shoulder, savoring the soft flow of her hair against his neck. Sarah squeaked, caught half way between a yelp and a whimper. Jareth nuzzled his bride, gracing tiny kisses on her ear, her temple, her neck, her throat. She sighed; his anxiety melted away at her acquiescent, tamed touch.

Wrapped together in the embrace of lovers, their feet stopped swaying. Their lips met as he teased and tasted her. But before, even last night, she had reacted to him. Her kiss had held promise and danger, an angry outburst or trembling trepidation waiting behind her timid expression. He was not so blind as to not realize how he fed on her fear or anxiety. He vampirized her passion, be it anger or fear, hoping she'd develop a third kind of ardor through dependence and proximity. Jareth berated himself for damaging his chances and ruining her affections, but found that his tightly wound self-control unraveled around his obsession-- unraveled until he couldn't resist anymore and convinced himself that he, as King, always chose correctly. The realizations hit hard and fast, piercing the sheer mania surrounding his bride. Jareth nipped her lip, hoping for a reaction. Her beloved green eyes peered back at him, sad and vacant. Ruined.

"Sarah," he rasped, shaking her shoulders and cursing himself.

"What?" her brow knitted together, slow and mundane and dull and destroyed. Her lack of concern suddenly appalled him.

He sprang like a wild cat-raptor. One hand closed around her wrist, bruising the delicate skin. His other hand flew into her hair. Jareth's talons tore through the sable strands as he pulled her frail body into his with crashing force. Half-growling, his mouth descended on hers. She must fight him, she must. The king bit and savaged his bride's lips. He smoothed her tortured skin with a sticky caress. They shared the taste of her blood, savoring the salt like fine wine. His tongue scraped through her mouth, claiming every nook and cranny, teasing and tormenting her throat. He didn't give her time to gag or protest.

She found herself pressed hard into the stone wall when her head hit it, gasping for breath and screaming. The lump started swelling on contact. Hot tears streamed down her face. Her body raged in defiance, horror, and pain. Tremors raced down her spine. She could smell her own sweat high in her nostrils. She choked on one of their tongues, gasping as his canines pierced the fragile skin of her lip. A strangled cry leapt in her throat.

With strength she didn't know she had, Sarah pushed him away from her. They stood, Princess and King, Bride and Groom, Good and Evil, Servant and Master, staring at each other while they panted. Then Sarah closed her mouth, turned on her heel, and ran. She ran until her breath burned in her lungs and her heart thudded in her legs. She followed her feet down the now well known path out of the castle, out of the city, out into his forbidden Labyrinth.


	31. Part 4 Flight: Crimson and Gold

Authors Note: Easter eggs in profile!

Part IV: Flight

Persephone 31

Crimson and Gold

If she could have spoken, Sarah would have said her very lungs burned. Fire flooded through her alveoli, snapping up all the oxygen and tender tissue in a crackling blaze. Sarah had long since forgotten the agony blooming in her ankles, spreading up her calves, growing in her shins, and blossoming in her entire body. She didn't stop running.

She dashed down corridors and darted around corners without any thought to where she headed, thinking instead of Jareth's frequent warnings. The Goblin King had forbidden her from entering the Labyrinth alone on numerous occasions. He always implied dark, deadly dangers with the clear proviso that she needed him to protect her. Sarah knew he rarely lied out right, but he often twisted the truth or limited her access to information. He had also rather grudgingly mentioned that he couldn't keep such precise tabs on her outside the castle. Perhaps he had worried about her attempting her current hair-brained scheme. Maybe the Labyrinth wasn't particularly dangerous, and he just knew she could escape his ever-watchful eyes if she ventured in. The idea made sense to Sarah.

She looked up at the sky, sweeping damp hair and sweat out of her already stinging eyes. The eastern skies darkened as Selene painted evening over the Labyrinth. She needed to find a place to rest safely, in all senses. Sarah knew how lost she was without pausing to look around. But to her oxygen-starved mind, getting as lost as possible seemed like the best way to hide from a potentially all-seeing king. Clutching the sudden-noticed stitch in her side, Sarah slowed her pace to a swift walk as she turned a corner and came face to face with a solid wall. She hesitated, not daring to stop for fear that her muscles would protest too severely if she started moving again.

She turned around, but the Labyrinth changed. Now, two dead ends trapped Sarah in a stone corral. Shoving her panic down, she took a deep breath, pacing back and forth, both to keep moving and to test the walls. She pressed her whole body into the slick stone, beating the unyielding wall with her fists. Solid. Completely and utterly solid. One dry, coughing sob escaped her agonizingly chapped lips. The sound echoed against the wall before returning to her ears. She strained her hearing, half expecting the Labyrinth's king to appear, as an owl or a man, now that his maze conveniently held her captive. She crossed her fingers mentally and physically, hoping that against the odds, the Labyrinth wanted to help her, or that she was simply being silly and overly anthropomorphic. Slowly, she released the air in her lungs, panting lightly. After several tense minutes the Labyrinth refused to change and the king remained conspicuously absent. At the thought of him, images flooded her mind: his confining arms, crushing embrace, ruthless laugh, cruel eyes…She shivered and pounded her fist into the wall, ignoring the bright purple bruises. She hoped the corral would protect her, and that the walls would shift again soon.

Resting place decided against her will, Sarah collapsed against the cold stone, immediately sinking to the ground. Her eyes exploded in heated tears that her adrenaline had kept at bay for hours. She cried as if the ice surrounding her heart and dreams was melting, leaving the newfound moisture no where to go. The tears bubbled to the surface, searching for an exit. She wept for the pain in her body, her heart, and her mind. She sobbed in fear of freedom and mourning for survival.

x x x x

When morning dawned, cool, clear, and misty, Sarah woke curled in on herself like she had since coming to the Underground. Dew coated the exposed right side of her body. Her muscles ached. But the wall against her back had disappeared overnight. And she was still running free with no sign of the monsterous king. Either he bided his time, or she really had a leg up on him. Sarah thanked the powers above for small miracles.

She stood and stretched, pausing to assess her new-found situation. Heavy skirts rumpled around her legs so she tore out the under-most layers and assembled them into a satchel that could double as a pillow should she find somewhere to sleep safely. Her stomach growled loudly, her mouth felt painfully dry, and she could have sworn her lips were ripped open, but she didn't have any food or water. _Maybe we can find some berries or something…nothing to do about that yet_, she thought.

The memory triggered thoughts of Ludo and her friends. Without knowing where to find them, and afraid to provoke Jareth's aggression towards them, Sarah decided to go it alone. If she found them, she'd have another small miracle to her name, give quick, tearful hugs, and turn on her heels to run before the king could arrive and hurt them. She feared for them, for Gilda, and even for Portia and Nightengale. Who would he blame? Who would he punish? As much as the thoughts pained her, she knew that she had to pursue her freedom as long as it lasted. Scanning the skies again, she hoped she died before he found her. Then let him weep all he wanted, she'd have her freedom. Perhaps she could convince him she'd died and live a relatively happy, pastoral life as a wild thing in his Labyrinth. Sarah resolved to look on the bright side, and pray for her friends.

She needed to find water, food, and shelter. Hoisting her new rag bag over her shoulder, Sarah set out exploring, wincing with each step as the cramps wore out of her legs.

x x x x

Sarah spent the entire morning stumbling around dead-ends in the Labyrinth's stone corridors. Incredibly frustrated, she hypothesized that the Labyrinth had somehow loved her on her first trip, and hated its scorned lover for her long absence—or some ridiculous thing like that. Although she didn't find any deep or dark dangers, Sarah only made slow progress, continually running into walls as they sprang up before her. She swore she wasn't taking anything for granted, or so she hoped. But repeatedly trying to walk through walls proved that the stone was entirely solid. The walls trapped her on several occasions, making the blood pound in her ears as she strained to hear fluttering wings or falling glitter, but the Labyrinth only kept her captive for a few tense minutes at a time. The miraculous feeling of freedom grew in her chest, but Sarah didn't dare trust the happiness completely. Still, she felt herself smiling again. Her cheeks hurt as if the muscles in them suffered from atrophy.

She didn't find anything to eat until early afternoon when she stumbled into a delicate apple orchard. The small pocket of trees stood in a particularly high-walled garden. Judging from the height of the sun, Sarah guessed that the orchard lay in a western corner of the labyrinth, but she couldn't be sure. Wrought-iron gates hung open and inviting. Temptingly Eden-esque trees with blood-red apples beckoned her into the golden grove. A convenient fountain bubbled merrily in the middle of the garden. Finding such a stellar place to suit all her needs so quickly made Sarah's heart thrill with happiness and her head simultaneously boil with suspicion.

But her startled gasp at the sight of the garden finally drowned out the constant rumblings coming from her stomach. _Do not, under any circumstances, take anything for granted_, she thought to herself. Sarah couldn't decide if the garden looked foreboding and gothic, with the bloody crimsons, which would make it perfectly safe, like "ferocious" orange Ludo, or overly serene and ergo dangerous, attractively gilded in the crisp afternoon sunlight. As far as she knew, apples shouldn't even be so large or so ripe in early summer. But the trees definitely looked like spun gold, presumably magic in some way, or simply bred for precious metals. Then again, Sarah chided herself, perhaps she simply over-analyzed, which was at least a step up from taking everything for granted. A loud growl from her mid-section decided the issue. Her painful lips voiced a quick second.

The heavy gate stayed safely open as she walked through, easing Sarah's first fears of entrapment. The trees bowed as she approached, offering their branches like little girls tossing their hair over their heads. The bent branches placed their bright apples in her hands before she reached up to grab them. "Thank you," Sarah mouthed, beyond flabbergasted. Her half-voice sounded raspy and strange in her ears. Wind whistled through the trees in response. Her eyes widened; the trees giggled back at her. She bit into the first apple, delighting at the sweet, white meat dotted with pink veins. Instantly, her hunger faded; her stomach settled. Relieved, Sarah rubbed the smooth bark in gratitude. The coquettish trees laughed louder.

With lighter steps, she gathered her apples and went to the central fountain. Wilted leaves floated along the water, disrupting the crystalline surface. The water looked clear and pure enough. "May I have some water?" she rasped. Even breathing hurt.

All the trees lowered their crowns in an unmistakable nod. With their emphatic response, she imagined the same water bubbling in the fountain flowed into the tree's roots. Tentative nevertheless, Sarah dipped her hand into the fountain, almost expecting a tug into another dimension or suddenly summoned water monster. But her hand merely tingled with cold. Cupping it to her mouth, she let the water dribble from her fingers onto her so-tortured lips. Several mouthfuls and two apples later, she felt a hundred times better.

Infinitely more confident, yet determined not to offend her hosts, Sarah formed another question. "Would you mind if used a little water to wash up?" she asked.

The answer came back far too muddled for her to understand.

Sarah craned her neck to the side, straining her ears. "Sorry, I didn't quite get that. Come again?" Talking to trees even began to seem slightly less silly.

_Yes, she could use some water to clean up, blessed by rain they understood the need, but they wanted no pretty naked girls splashing about in _their_ fountain._

Understanding the complex response came in sudden rush. Sarah flushed deep red. "Of course not," she stuttered, "I wouldn't do anything like that," especially when she still worried about the king appearing unannounced and menacing. "Thank you," she said again.

Now vaguely aware of the grove's communication, she felt small hairs rising on her neck while the trees gossiped with each other, giggling and laughing all around her. Sarah laughed a little herself as she used precious handfuls of water to splash her face, arms, and neck. She hiked-up the tatters of her skirt to wash her feet, calves, and thighs.

Sitting on the edge of the fountain amidst the chattering orchard, she finally had time to stop and really consider her lack of survival plans. This protected nook, with convenient sources of food and water, could make a home. The high walls and gate afforded some safety from all but the sky and the weather. If rain threatened, she could shelter under the trees once she gained their acceptance. Sarah didn't worry about gaining the grove's acceptance; they already seemed to like her. She nearly swore they smiled down at her.

Of course, she'd grow terribly sick of a steady diet of apples and water. Her stomach might revolt in a new way. She needed to find somewhere secluded close by to employ as a primitive toilet, because the trees certainly wouldn't approve of that embarrassing bodily function. And eventually she'd need to do more than a quick freshening. Nevertheless, the little garden provided sufficient shelter for the time being. Hopefully, she could explore the area and at least return to the garden to sleep, if the Labyrinth didn't change too much. In ideal circumstances, she might maintain a camp in the orchard while finding the rest of the necessary amenities elsewhere. She hoped for the bare necessities to rest easily at the very least. The plan comforted her even more than the food. Now to ask her hosts for permission. Sarah swallowed her nerves and cleared her throat.

"Can I stay here for a few days?" she asked the tallest tree on behalf of all the garden's golden residents. With scars and wrinkles marring the bark, she seemed like the orchard's matriarch. "At least to sleep at night and have a few apples and a little water? I'm a bit new to the Labyrinth."

The older tree's response was warm and motherly, exactly as Sarah had predicted even though she tried to keep preconceptions out of her head. Several of the trees around her shook as if a heavy gust of wind rattled them, but the air hung still and breathless around them. A torrent of dainty leaves rained down. Sarah understood; the trees intended to make a bed for her. Forgetting herself entirely, and finally feeling a sense of belonging, a rightness; Sarah flung her arms around the old maternal tree. The branches dipped and swayed, gently patting her back and smoothing her tousled hair.

She danced through the orchard, thanking every single tree. They giggled and blushed in return. Soon, Sarah found herself yawning. Her mouth stretched painfully wide even when she tried to keep it closed. She assumed that the sudden lower stress level made her sleepy, pulled the iron gate closed, and graciously kicked her leaves into a bed, despite the late afternoon sun. She lay back on her genuine fairy bower, a sort of earth-princess bed, staring at the light flitting through the leaves as she fell fast asleep.


	32. Stone

Notes: Thanks to all who read and review. I especially appreciate the in-depth love/hate reviews I've gotten of late. To all those who asked, Jareth's in the next chapter.

Persephone 32

Stone

Sarah spent a peaceful night in her fairy bower. She did not even dream. In the morning, she woke with the red sun, ate two apples, splashed water on her face, cleaned up her leaves, and set out to explore. For safety, she closed the gate behind her, hoping the small change wouldn't offend her hosts, and ran into the Labyrinth.

Walking through the stone corridors, she searched for new sources of food and water without straying too far from the orchard. Since she'd left her only possession, the empty rag bag, and hoped to rest safely in the garden, Sarah worried about loosing her way. But today, the Labyrinth seemed far more cooperative. The stone walls let her pass without too many dead ends or little enclosures.

She noticed additional signs of life as she traveled towards the early afternoon sun. Moss coated the stone like patchwork. She stopped to watch family of tiny, eight-legged, electric blue salamanders creep along the shadows. Sarah stopped to enjoy the awe. Later, Sarah spotted some of the familiar eyeball stalks growing on a ledge. For a brief moment, she considered trying to cook them like the goblins in the market had done. Too disgusting, she decided; she'd rather just eat apples.

At the end of her first day of freedom, Sarah thanked her lucky stars that she found her way back to the orchard. Each tree greeted her with a giggle on her return. Sprawling out on her leafy bed, she stared up at the all natural, green silk canopy. Sarah already felt at home, even though she'd had little success in exploring and collecting. She glanced over at her treasures: an ancient baseball cap, an arm's-length of twine, and a pretty pink pebble. But tomorrow was another day. She stretched and yawned. The leaves scratched the itch on her elbow pleasantly. With a smile, she drifted into the same dreamless sleep.

The trees watched over their young charge with easy grace. They bowed to leave a pile of apples for their lady on her waking. The matriarch wove serenity into the girl's sleep, giving her no inkling of how long she lay beneath their branches. Their gift restored her. And if monsters prowled outside the gates at night, the girl child never knew. While Sarah slept, the orchard glowed golden with pride.

x x x x

Groggily, Sarah woke feeling more refreshed than she ever remembered feeling before. And each morning, the new euphoria of waking up only improved. Her collection of possessions grew as well, along with her ability to navigate within the Labyrinth. The walls hardly ever trapped her anymore. She felt safe traveling around the orchard and dependably returning each night.

Most of the items she collected weren't remotely useful; she had a large collection of attractive stones and pebbles, but they pleased her nonetheless. She arranged them like a Zen garden in an exposed patch of soil between the matriarch's roots. An abandoned bird's nest now nestled in a crevice along the garden wall. The abandoned nest reminded her of another day when she'd found lonely eggs, been tempted to steal them, but felt far too guilty even though eggs stealing suited a wild thing. She kept a growing pile of sticks and dead dry plants just inside the garden gate in case she ever needed to build a fire—with her hosts permission of course. Even though she was enjoying her freedom, Sarah already worried about the far away winter.

She lost the Red Sox cap, and felt strangely sad about its loss even though she'd never liked baseball, or sweat-stained hats. It just blew off her head. She took a moment's pause to imagine a little boy running though the Labyrinth. He looked like Toby. Blond hair flopped into big blue eyes, smiling in her memory.

On the seventh day, Sarah, feeling particularly biblical, decided to venture further from her new home than she had before. She hoped to find the junkyard outside the goblin city, even though it meant venturing close to the castle and revisiting horrible old memories. Of all the places she'd seen on her first trip through the Labyrinth, the junk yard remained one of the most haunting. Its very normalcy made it horrifying. The odds and ends of misspent lives looked like nightmarish bones in the dusty red light. And that horrible moment when she thought she was home…sometimes she thought she'd learned the most there.

Still, the junkyard probably held treasures that could help her. Of course, the goblin market had almost everything she needed. Her stomach rumbled at the thought of any food that didn't come from apples. Not that she wasn't grateful, but variety truly was the spice of life. The trees would likely let her trade some of the apples for supplies and the market didn't scare her like the junkyard. Nevertheless, she didn't dare approach the market because of the exposure and proximity to the castle; some of the goblins were sure to remember her and report her presence to the king.

She wanted pots and pans, or baskets. Eventually, she wanted to cook, and she needed storage. If it rained, the pots could protect her possessions.

Sarah hoped for relatively clean fabric scraps and something with which to cut and sew them. Her already-shredded dress hung in tatters, ripping more on every excursion. Since both she and the orchard objected to nakedness, the dress would need repairs soon. And a change of clothes would be beyond luxurious. With a private giggle, she wondered if she could find her jeans, tossed out on one of the Goblin King's malicious whims. She longed for denim-- and denim pants at that! Anyway, with two outfits, she could alternate washings and wearings. Sarah knew wild things didn't wear many clean clothes, but she planned to search anyway. She might try to make a blanket. Even a scrap of fabric to tie her hair back would make her smile.

She wanted something to comb her hair. Her dirty tresses hung heavily around her face, blowing in the wind. Any kind of utensils or tools might be useful. Maybe some of the items from her replica room would still be in the junkyard. Sarah couldn't decide if copies of her familiar treasures would be comforting or just plain freaky. She missed Lancelot in the castle. Worries threatened her, but Sarah shoved them away.

Her hosts seemed extremely concerned about her trip. They swayed on the growing breeze, alternately scolding and cautioning her. But Sarah hadn't seen any of the dangers they warned her about. No monsters, no oubliettes, no tortures, hardly even any dead ends. The matriarch whispered that they cleared her paths around the orchard. Kindly and calmly, Sarah thanked the trees, but told them she needed supplies only the junkyard could provide. With their trepidatious blessing, she trekked off towards the center of the Labyrinth.

x x x x

Finding the junkyard proved easier, but longer, than Sarah originally intended. Navigating with vague memories and the position of the sun, she traced a path towards the castle. Twice, she heard a long, low growl in a nearby corridor, but the entire Labyrinth seemed strangely empty and oddly simple, drawing her initial achievement into doubt. Once she could see the junkyard in the distance, Sarah became aware of increasing goblin activity. Patrols of goblin guards forced her into hiding. She dodged behind boulders and eerily contorted statues to wait them out. Sarah pressed her hand to her heart, convinced they'd hear it beating and find her. One glance at the castle sent an involuntary shiver up her spine so violently that her teeth rattled.

But the jewels she found in the junkyard made the nerve-wracking journey worthwhile. Truly, the goblin's trash and the shatter remnants of day dreams yielded precious treasure. Although Sarah had never considered dumpster diving in her previous life, she found a certain satisfaction in the art. Pawing through discarded possessions and taking incredible care not to lean on anyone's back, Sarah sorted through junkyard.

She prioritized what she actually needed and could carry, giving special care to what she might return for on a second trip. As such, the Aboveground wicker dinette set was out. Taking a rest in the chair, Sarah imagined a young mother sitting outside a southern porch, cradling her soon-to-be-wished-sway babe. She did snatch the green cushion off the seat. Likewise, she decided against smuggling a dingy porcelain doll she'd found haphazardly in an old trunk. The trunk suited her purposes more, but it was too heavy.

Instead, she took the preciously clean yellow cotton that lined the bottom. The single yard could make a primitive wrap skirt. Even if the paisley was far too couture for a wild thing, Sarah was glad to discard the first fabric she found: itchy burlap. Unable to resist, she snatched up a gaudy green-glass ring to distract her from the Goblin King's bauble. The dark ruby ring still stuck fast around her knuckle. An old oiled canvas would repel rain better than the tree canopy, even if it smelled slightly doggy. It folded neatly into a cracked copper pot. Sarah stuck a surprisingly bright white tea kettle on top, in case she ever needed to carry water. She filled her bag with multi-colored candle stubs and two small wooden candle sticks, not quite sure how she would light them. She wrapped the last three seeds in a packet marked 'carrots' and placed the precious cargo in her bag. One bent fork, a spoon, a rusty kitchen knife, and two yellowed philosophy books joined them. Unfortunately, she could not find a sewing needle in her proverbial haystack, but Sarah still left satisfied, carrying her swelling bag and a stack of chipped pots.

Apparently, the red haze that permeated the junkyard was not connected to the time or weather outside. Or, Sarah mused, she'd simply been too thrilled with her unconventional shopping trip to pay attention to the sun now laying low in the west. Strange, how armfuls of trash could please her more than the cold jewels and lavish silks of the Goblin Castle. With one over-the-shoulder glance towards the center of the Labyrinth, she started the long return journey.

x x x x

Dark fell fast. Far too fast. Within an hour, Sarah couldn't see where she was going, let alone her hand in front of her face. Even though she'd star gazed out her window in the castle, she couldn't see a single star or even the moon. The air pricked her skin, making her forget the early summer breezes that morning. Goosebumps spread up her legs. Her feet felt icier with every step.

With a startled cry, she bumped into a body. An arm bruised her chest. Dropping her treasures, Sarah grabbed at the figure. Shrieking, she struggled to get away. Her fingernails bit into stone.

Mentally, Sarah slapped herself. Frowning, she took a deep breath and traced the statue's body with her hands. Her fingers found the thin nose and grimacing mouth. The statue's own fingers curled into fists, raised and pleading. She envisioned one of the pained looking statues she'd hidden behind earlier. True, the things gave her the willies, but they weren't worth screaming about, especially considering who might hear.

Sarah took a deep breath, forced her lungs to expand and contract at a less panicked rate, and knelt down to find the parcels she'd dropped. Her groping fingers had just found the handle of the copper pot when a stone hand descended on the back of her neck. She heard, rather than felt, the sickening crunch and dropped into blackness.

x x x x

The sensation of walking up was familiar and unknown all at the same time. She felt the euphoria and slightly scratchy leaves under her back just like always, but the floating sensation, like descending from a cloud, was certainly new. Sarah yawned and stretched, delighted by the new day but determined not to get up. Dimly, hazy memories floated back into her mind.

Stone hands lashed out in the dark, striking her head and coiling around her ankles. Cold swept through her limbs. Somehow, she knew the statues wanted to claim her as their one of their own. Sarah remembered fighting, but jagged edges sliced into her hands. The blood smelled salty in the chilly air.

Rolling over to a face full of leaves, Sarah peered at her hands. Two long thin scabs lined her left palm. There were four marks on her right hand. She assumed she'd hit her attackers with that hand. Yet, the scabs look far too pink to be fresh. Sarah realized she'd been sleeping for several days. Feeling confused and dizzy, she looked around. At first glance, the orchard seemed comfortingly familiar. Then, Sarah looked behind her.

Her new possessions were stacked neatly behind her pillow. But there were far more items than she'd collected. A new basket overflowed with food: crunchy bread, cookies, sticky pastries, jars of brown butter and colorful jellies, bottled juices, and fruit. She saw soft blankets folded neatly underneath Lancelot. Sarah starred. Finally, she spotted the letter.

The rolled parchment tucked under Lancelot's furry arm. Sarah untied the red ribbon and smoothed it out to read. The cool, elegant script raised the hairs on her arms.

_My dear Sarah, _

_I see that you have found my Daphnes. Thankfully, they seem to have taken a liking to you. I am glad you have landed where you can make friends to aid you. Despite your perpetual talent, I fear you will eventually make acquaintances you cannot simply win. _

_ I have delivered food and some other essentials. I am well aware of the depths of your mistrust, but I promise there are no tricks here. My soul matters little to you, so I will swear on Lindel's and my mother's to ensure you eat. The food came straight from the kitchens; I did not touch it._

_I must stress that you find your safe harbor every night and not stray too far. The statuaries need no more forms; from now on, I beg you heed my warnings. I understand you will not come back to me, even for your own safety; I could not ask for your return. Since I know you will not read my apologies, I will not pain you with them. Nevertheless, should you change your mind, I am waiting._

_J._

By the second read through, enough of the shock wore off so that Sarah could reflect on the letter. He'd found her-- her secret hiding place! And so quickly…Sarah didn't know whether to laugh or cry. If he knew where she was hiding, she couldn't be safe.

Her stare alternated between the letter and the divinely crunchy-looking bread. Her mouth watered while her skin crawled. She studied the letter in detail, applying all her interpretive abilities. His tone seemed cold, almost condescending, whereas she expected white-hot anger. Still, he didn't seem at all apologetic either. But the king was right, she wouldn't read his apologies. Nevertheless, she would have liked the paper to burn.

Most of the food wasn't immediately perishable; she had enough to last at least two weeks. Sarah pawed through the basket, finding socks, shoes, and underwear folded near the bottom with a soft but rugged dress. A packet contained modern matches and long tapered candles. She hugged Lancelot, recognizing the smell of her house. Whether he knew it or not, the Goblin King had given her many essentials that the junkyard could not.

Sarah couldn't remember the previous night, or however many nights ago it had been. She shuddered. Anything could have happened in the aftermath of the statuary. She felt fine. What would the statues have done to her? What would he have done? Sarah shuddered. She wondered why she'd woken safe and sound in the orchard when he could have taken her. He could be plotting something else. Perhaps the gifts were only meant to tie her to the orchard so he could locate her, or to weigh her down if she chose to run.

Weighing her options took most of the afternoon. Finally, Sarah reached her grim decision. As long as the Goblin King knew where she was, she wouldn't be safe. To tell the truth, she'd rather face dangers untold than the very known danger named Jareth. Sarah packed what she could comfortably carry, thanked all the trees of the orchard, and neatly stowed all her new things in the corner. Then she set off to find her way in the Labyrinth.


	33. Dovetails

Author's Note: I think Ergott and I have been channeling the same energy these past few weeks. Lots of real-life and writer's block got in the way of this chapter. I'm not thrilled with it, but I hope to move forward. Here's Jareth's perspective on some recent events.

Persephone 33

Dovetails

Wordlessly, he watched her retreating back, tormented by the taste of her blood on his lips. As Sarah ran, her hair and skirts fanned out behind her with impossible grace. Jareth slammed his fist into the wall, just above the brick where her head had rested a moment before. He let her go.

With a flick of the wrist, he conjured a crystal and caught her image. She tore through the palace, the courtyards, and the city. She panted so hard he swore she'd stop. Instead, he watched her barrel out the gates into his Labyrinth. The useless crystal shattered.

Bellowing and swearing in hundreds of languages alive and dead, Jareth gave in to his temper. Anger beyond any he ever showed his bride flowed freely through his veins. The air tinged with sharp bursts of magic while he destroyed his study. He swept the papers from his desk, knocked his most priceless books from their shelves, and kicked the chair until it dwindled into dust. He tore the wall hangings to shreds. Goose feathers from the couch pillows flew lightly on the rippling magical breeze, coming to rest like snow on the wreckage. Panting and shining with sweat, he slid down the wall and crouched on the floor to think.

He immediately regretted the decision. He'd known how unhappy she was even as he denied it. He knew she despised him. He knew his plans to ensure her dependence were failing, and without dependence, what were affections? Worse still, he had broken the one he cared for most. He could not find her easily in the Labyrinth since she wasn't running as a challenger, or considered one of his lesser subjects. He needed to retake her, to apologize, to repair his vexing angel. Now, he could neither find nor protect her.

Jareth waved the depressing thoughts away. Even sitting among the shreds of his books and papers, he summoned his most self-righteous dignity and shook the white feathers out of his hair. At his beckon, the tattered seating charts floated out of the wreckage of his over-turned desk to his hand. A quill followed them. Putting the finishing touches to the newly mended document, Jareth very nearly succeeded in banishing the little guilty voices from his mind. Nevertheless, the feather tickling his nose tormented him, reminding him of the inklings of guilt flitting between his mind and his withered, entirely excusable heart.

X X X X

"What ever do you mean, Sarah is ill? You would not dare think I came all this way to see you? Especially if I am not even allowed to come to the real party!" Lindel threw her arms around his neck even as she sneered at and berated him.

"I am sorry, my dear sister. I fear I must disappoint you." Jareth ruffled her hair and swung her about for good measure, hoping his runaway bride hadn't stolen his entire family's affections.

"Well then, I simply must visit her and cheer her up!" Annoyance forgotten, Lindel offered a brilliant smile as he set her down, curls dancing.

"And I am sorely afraid that you shall not," Jareth replied, tweaking her nose before offering a hand up to his mother. "I refuse to let you risk catching her cold. 'Tis too dangerous."

The dowager queen descended from their carriage with easy grace. When she reached solid ground, Jareth knelt and kissed her hand. Undistracted by formality, she immediately picked up on the discreet edge in her son's voice. "Sarah is so ill?" Savionne's eyes narrowed. "Of course, Alexander has seen her?"

"Of course mother," Jareth rolled his eyes for effect. Though he adored the older man for his wise counsel and swift remarks, he felt incredibly grateful that Alexander was visiting Navarre on trivial matters, dealing with Draco's little bastard's incurable colic. Jareth knew he couldn't abide Alexander's overbearing abilities to tell him off. Since he didn't think Alexander would enjoy a dip in the bog, he much preferred keeping his friend far away. "Corinth, Adele, and the other guests will arrive shortly," he added, "let me see you settled before the party."

Lindel took one arm and Savionne the other. Jareth did not catch his mother's intense scrutiny as they strolled up to the castle. The dowager queen sent a thread of her magic shooting up into the castle, looking for the girl and the cause of her illness. When the ray returned, her brow wrinkled in despair.

x x x x

A light tap on the door to the anteroom of his chamber came slightly earlier than expected. "Enter," Jareth called, watching the heavy door swing open. His mother and Adele entered the room. He felt an immediate compulsion to wince and fought it.

Adele spoke first. "Really, Goblin King," she caught his look, "you are the epitome of gentility."

"Am I?"

"And simplistic decency as well, I see." His mother took a seat in a plush armchair without waiting for permission or invitation. She raised a challenging eyebrow at her son.

Jareth sneered. "So mother, you brought dear cousin Adele to scold me on your behalf?"

"Forgive me, I did not want the honor myself. How could I?" she replied in a tone simultaneously serene and chilling. "You drove her out with your temper."

"'Twas not only his temper, but his neglect, his abuse," Adele interrupted. "You would do better not to give his highness too much credit, your Majesty."

Jareth had never seen such color in Adele's pale cheeks. She looked positively irate. He reclined in his chair, feigning nonchalance, waiting for the scolding. Even if he knew he deserved her words, and felt the heavy guilt, he wouldn't show the weakness. His mouth twisted, "Unfortunately mother, I am afraid she's correct." He refused to give either of them the satisfaction.

"Of course, we had told you so," Adele interjected.

"What precisely did you do to her this time?" his mother rubbed her temples as if fighting off a headache.

Sometimes, he pitied the woman for him and his brother, let alone her squabbling daughters. Someday, he hoped his own small family wouldn't be so troublesome. Jareth sighed. "More of the same." He looked up at the two sets of anxious azure eyes peering at him. "She seemed to have lost her fire and I wanted it back."

Adele shook her head. "Speaking as someone who chose to love a dangerous man, let me tell you my affections are not for his temper."

"You know you can wait for the torturer to return to you with sweet, tender caresses Adele?" he sneered, thinking of kind, rejected Alexander. "Never mind who he hurts by day so long as he politely overpowers you in bed each night?"

"Enough," Savionne said, rising from her chair.

"No Majesty," Adele inclined her head to the dowager queen, completely calm despite the frantic nature of her words. "Jareth knows why I must do what I must. Here, I bring my husband, my lover, to your party so you can humiliate him to bring others to our cause. Happy, both of you, to have my as your little spy. _Never mind_ his dear lovelorn friend Alexander." She locked eyes with Jareth, undeterred, but hurt behind her savage gaze.

"You do care for him!" Jareth spat, happy to turn the sharp barbs away from his own conduct.

"I always have." Adele replied quietly.

"Children…" Savionne interjected tiredly, without much hope of stopping the argument, misplaced though it was, on the eve of revolution.

Adele continued in a small, soft voice, with her hands resolutely on her hips. She sought Jareth's gaze again, pressing concern into her tone. "And yet," she said, "I cannot make myself worry that I love my husband far more than your runaway does you."

Her words stung; Jareth flinched at the bitter truth. He knew he'd lost, again, and was growing sick of the trend. He preferred denial. Heavy silence settled for a long moment. Jareth rested his head in his hands, breathing harder than had anticipated "Then what," exhaustion crept into his voice, "might I do to repair my mistake?"

His mother stood, crossing the room in three graceful strides. She rested a hand on his shoulder. "You know your politics well. I could not offer advice."

Jareth grunted, knowing she chose to misunderstand him. "And the girl?"

"Sarah…well. I have no real advice on that delicate fiasco. Have you found her?"

"Not yet," he replied, lowering his chin. Images of potential dangers flashed through his head: strangling plants, knashing teeth, and evil fairies. Jareth shook them from his mind. "Her disappearance frightens me."

Adele's voice rang from the door way, far too kindly for the ways he'd insulted her. "Cousin, just follow your better nature." Looking up at the sad flash from her blue eyes, he instantly thought of Alexander. "Give her time, as I told you well before," she paused, "and do not be afraid, if you must, to let her go."

x x x x

Glass tingled and clinked on the table, signaling the end of the feast and Jareth's upcoming toast. The meal had gone relatively smoothly, though the conversation ranged nowhere near treason. At Adele's side, Corinth looked particularly taunt and tight shouldered. Perhaps he detected treason in the atmosphere despite the lack of talk. He spoke less than usual.

Jareth stood, pushing his chair back haphazardly. He cleared his throat, beginning without preamble: "Many thanks to all my guests, especially those who traveled so far." He nodded particularly to a pair of younger lordlings, just into manhood, with smiles far too bright for experienced politicians. Determined not to destroy all the happiness shining in their eyes, he pushed a little more compassion into his voice, hoping not to frighten them with the harsh realities of treason. "I hope you have enjoyed my Labyrinth's hospitality, and find that we are not the poor province some suggest," he continued, indicating the wide spread of luxurious half-eaten food.

Corinth scowled, skimming the rim of his wine glass with one soft-gloved finger. Adele touched his wrist, casting a sympathetic look at her husband. Feeling his gaze, Corinth raised his eyes to challenge his host. Jareth raised an eyebrow, ignored him, and pressed on. "Navarre looks down on the outer, more distant provinces and principalities, feeling that we deserve a position below her nose," he stalled for dramatic effect, catching the golden lordling's eye, "or under her boots."

Conrad de Silvane had been known to complain when Draco set loose and then hunted his carefully bred swift harts. The young man flushed to his ears before setting his face and nodding firmly. Conrad treasured Artemis' famous deer. So like his fleet footed lover…

Jareth's mouth quirked. He couldn't help imagining young man's attempt at the harsh expression on Lindel's equally innocent face and felt grateful that his mother kept her away from the party. While the whispers subsided, he scanned the gathering for Savionne's coy political mask. She looked particularly cool at the opposite head of the table, in the seat that would one day belong to Sarah. Her name twisted in his gut; he shoved the unwanted thought away before it broke his concentration. The dowager queen chatted quietly with Adele, purposefully providing a distraction from the younger woman's rankled husband.

"I am pleased to propose a toast in honor of all gathered here," Jareth said. "Here, we will meet again as friends and strengthen our bonds and our equal pride." He watched subtle realization dawn on a slow-witted countess's face. Beside her, her husband's grin stretched, for they were considered beneath Navarre's interest and never involved in the capital's affairs. Jareth raised his glass. "Let us dance and make merry together tonight, knowing that we stand in equal glory with the first ring of Navarre."

Everyone except Corinth drank deeply. The dragon's apprentice glared at the social inferiors who dared not ask him questions about the elegant and vastly superior goings on in the capital. Most of the faces showed polite anticipation mixed with a dash of confusion and incredible, new-found pride. Still, Jareth didn't dare speak plainly of treason, not yet. As the music swelled up, he noticed many party goers climbing from their chairs and moving into place to corner him for private talks. Let them think they'd cornered him, he mused, having pre-selected the targets who felt the most animosity for Draco. Jareth grinned at his mundane success. But as the band struck up the first basic waltz, he wished he had a fine, obliging partner to smile, laugh, and distract his weary mind from the general necessary inanity of smoking room politics. And knowing that she no longer smiled, nor laughed, Jareth's mood blackened as he walked onto the floor waiting for Conrad to think he'd miraculously cornered the mighty Goblin King.

x x x x

Moonlight hung heavy over the garden when he arrived; Jareth left the dust of his possessions beneath his boots and landed on the dewy grass. Bypassing the gate, he strode through the gilded trees, glinting silver in the pearly gloom.

Jareth crouched beside Sarah's bed of leaves, studying her face, surrounded by tangled clouds of dark hair. She looked peaceful, smiling lightly, but he detected lines of worry etched into her face, especially around her eyes. The marks seemed painfully permanent, aging her face. He swept a lock of hair off her face. She moaned and jerked away in her sleep.

Jareth frowned. "Is she safe here?" he questioned the trees.

Their murmur of assent floated back to him on the cool breeze.

"And how long have you kept her asleep?"

_Two days and evenings, _they replied, _not nearly as much as she needs._

He watched her eyes dance under the lids, recognizing the depth of her trance. She would think that she'd only slept one night, rather than days. "My thanks," he said sarcastically, glaring at the canopy. "Then keep her and protect her. Try to prevent her from leaving, if you can."

Even though the trees told him that they couldn't promise to contain the headstrong girl, they assured him that they would try, for her rather than their king. Jareth nodded his thanks. He watched over Sarah for an hour before convincing himself to leave her safely in the sleepy orchard's care and return home to consult his mother. He bid his bride goodbye, but he did not touch her again.

x x x x

Attending his guests took up far more energy than spying on Sarah, and was much more necessary, which Jareth greatly appreciated. But they left after a few short days, leaving him to his thoughts. His study already suffered far too many upheavals whenever he thought about her. The trickling rumors of the happy wild-thing coming through the labyrinth both pleased and saddened him. He didn't dare try to visit Sarah while she was awake. Attempting to write notes generally ended in heaps of crumpled paper and ink-splattered, broken furniture. He tried sleeping more to combat his mixed bag of misery. The numb, dead feeling helped with the loneliness, but it didn't touch the guilt.

Over the following month, he checked on Sarah while she slept, often for days or weeks at a time. Her skin took on a new shine and the dark circles under her eyes vanished. Under the trees care, she quickly returned to a standard of health unseen after her move Underground, but he wished she wasn't so skinny. Although the transformation pleased him, it called his negligence to mind. He took his frustrations out on the trees guarding his lover, yelling specific instructions as to her care. Unfortunately, the trees refused to let him bully them, knowing the presence of the girl gave them the upper hand, and merely giggling at his threats.

One night, he awoke from one of his rare bouts of sleep, tossing and turning in bed, tangled hard and fast in the linens, his scalp tingling in warning. Jareth sat up, conjuring a crystal as he threw the black sheet off his legs. Feeling menace and danger, he could only guess at the cause. He didn't need to wait for his magic to slowly seek Sarah out, the sense of unease emanating from the Labyrinth herself told him find Sarah, fast. Leaving the crystal floating by his shoulder, he dressed quickly, grinding his teeth.

Flying over the Labyrinth, Jareth finally found her in the petrified statuary. Without any of the usual euphoria of flight, he swooped down and transformed back into the Goblin King. He didn't even bother to embellish the transformation with glitter and hurried into the commotion.

The statues gathered around the girl's prone body, Frankenstein's fiends in the dim light. If they could speak, they would have been jeering and whistling. Instead, the hanging silence was even more unnerving. Gray granite men stood poised over Sarah, ready to smash her human body so they could repair her with clay and stone. The statues rallied around their victim, waving heavy fists.

Jareth narrowed his eyes. With an inhuman hiss, he transformed into a blaze of fire and flew through the statues's formation. Heat fell on the stone. They shielded their eyes and fell back, literally petrified by the light. The living stone shriveled and stilled in the flame.

Sarah sprawled on the cold cobbled ground. Leaving fireflies of flame to linger and brighten the night, Jareth crouched beside her. He searched for a pulse, half afraid to touch her and cause her more pain. Her heart beat faintly behind her ear. He breathed a heavy sigh of relief before his temper set in: Of course she couldn't just run away and stay safely in the garden. That wasn't sin enough. She had to try running around at night, completely ignoring his warnings. Cursedly foolish girl! Fine if she refused to trust him, but he knew that she knew he'd never actually out-right lied.

And yet, he considered, of the monsters roving the Labyrinth, at least she'd found some of the less dangerous ones. Kind, gentle, good-hearted Sarah would leave the mantacores and dragons for another cursed night. He wondered if she could imagine how sickeningly worried he felt. But no, she believed him heartless. Emotions aside, the audacity of her nighttime stroll goaded his core. His cry light the night.

Sarah barely twitched as the sound sliced through the silence. Jareth gathered her into his arms, pressing a relieved kiss to her forehead. He repressed the guilt as he lifted her. Her body felt lighter than he remembered. With a fresh curse, Jareth widened his stance to prepare to transport her, and put his foot through a clay pot, shattering it on contact.

Frowning, he congealed nearby waves and particles of light in his hand, released them, and scanned the ground in the light. Dingy pieces of junk littered the stone, broken bits of other beings lives. She had tried to gather glory in dust. He waved a hand, neatly arranging her bits and bobs and sending them back to the orchard with one economical gesture. He focused his own mind against his anger, and followed.

They returned to the orchard with a hard crunch of night-glazed grass. The trees bleated with concern, but Jareth ignored them: Where had she been? Was their lady all right? Why had he come, and even, from one dainty sapling, had he swept Sarah up in his arms and rescued her?

Jareth supported Sarah's head as he laid her in her leafy bed. He watched her pallid lips for faint signs of breath even though he knew she lived. Slowly, the rhythm of her breathing evened and slowed. He stretched out on the dewy grass beside her, completely unaware of his own discomfort.

Fearing for her head, Jareth pulled off his glove and rested his hand gently on top. He didn't dare try to fix any trauma of the impact, his magic simply wasn't suited to such finesse as healing, but he poured his own strength into her body like fire and fine wine, to protect against and repair damage. The measure would suffice until he could fetch Alexander and persuade him to stop criticizing long enough to examine Sarah.

Over Sarah's shoulder, he studied her camp with a hyper-critical eye, cataloguing the possessions she'd rescued from the junk yard, their types, and what might make her wild life a bit more civilized. Jareth considered what foods she might eat and what wouldn't spoil. He knew that if the girl thought he was giving her too much, she'd panic and refuse even the barest necessity. He looked around and finished his mental list.

Sarah twitched in her sleep, throwing her arm across her face and returning it to her side. He nudged her tangled hair off her brow, adding a brush to his growing list. She settled again. Jareth studied her sweet face, struck as always by her innocence in sleep, the innocence he had craved and corrupted. For an instant, he loathed himself. Then he bowed his head and made a private vow to Sarah.

Once he felt sure she was safe, Jareth rose and disappeared from the garden. The trees spread whispered rumors in his wake, Matriarch shushing all the while.


	34. The Owl and the Mouse

Author's Notes:

I'm back at school and therefore have already lost the relative speed of the summer.

I love Wikipedia. Used it for Barn Owl facts.

To anonymous reviewers: Please leave me an email address! I've wanted to contact some of you for several chapters now.

Thanks, as always, to all readers and reviewers!

Persephone 34

The Owl and the Mouse

He imagined her, slick and cool, in the rain. The shade-girl formed in his mind's eye: chilled, hungry, and pitiable. A month ago, with her secure at his side, he'd have envisioned the tatters of her dress coating her innocent breasts; fabric shading the troughs of pale and dark along her rib cage; the heavy, slick definition of her hips; the calm claming dew on her skin. But now he saw a frantic girl, an infuriatingly defiant girl, pushing soaked tresses out of her eyes, cursing him when she should have called for his aid. The distrustful, tormented child he loved. He saw her slip in muck and mud as she fought to make her way to safety. He wondered what would have happened so long ago had she sought Toby in the rain. He wondered at the way the weather defied the beauty of her wit, and laughed a little, privately, when his adventurer cursed the bountiful skies, shaking her small white fist. Lurking in his imagination, he wished to find two halves of his whole in the rain, and then longed, painfully bounded in reality once more, to chase it away.

x x x x

The wind rushed with the chase. Clouds rolled across the crimson sky. Sarah felt the crackle of his power in the air, like an approaching thunderstorm. She urged her feet, and put on a burst of speed, running without tracing the winding corners.

Panting, Sarah ducked. She couldn't run anymore. She needed to rest. Her ears roared as she hid, constantly listening for a snapping twig, flutter of wings, or the softest touch-down of falling glitter. Crouching under a stone outcropping, Sarah tore at the last of her now stale bread. Despite careful rationing, the few supplies she'd taken from the garden were nearly gone—but they weighted her down anyway. She gnawed at the bread heel, feeling safe enough to pause and breathe for a moment, before throwing the crust away. Although nothing had actually threatened her outright, the very air palpitated, pulsed with danger. The unbiased wind carried the king's bitter warnings. Dark, misty rain began to fall.

Once in her youth, her father told her to watch the small creatures for signs of trouble. "If minnows are fleeing, leave before the shark arrives," he said, before the girl-child Sarah pointed out that sharks didn't actually eat minnows. Four days after leaving the garden, the Labyrinth possessed an entirely different energy. Instead of rusty, the air tasted black. The beetles, bugs, and birds hardly lifted their heads from hiding. They skittered from point to point as quickly as possible, so Sarah did the same. Nevertheless, their numbers dwindled as the air darkened.

She intended to wend her way through the Labyrinth's long spiral to the outskirts, as far from the central castle as possible. Between bouts of running, she fantasized about Hoggle's old garden by the big creaky door and the fields beyond. The possibility of running beyond the Labyrinth's walls had flitted intermittently through her head since her arrival Underground, but Sarah always shoved that idea away as too treacherous a journey for too uncertain an outcome. Now in her second week of escape, Sarah couldn't come up with a better plan, but once she left the vicinity of her orchard, she found she could no longer navigate. Sarah assumed the trees themselves had helped her. Yet again, she wished she could call on her friends, but knew he'd find her or simply hurt them. Her throat stuck, wishing for their smiles.

Gathering her legs beneath her, Sarah leapt out of her hiding place and darted down the corridor. Lightening crackled through the air. She dodged one shifting wall and another before hurling herself around a corner. The unexpected rock ledge she landed on fell away immediately into a ramp, spilling her down the slick stone. How the Labyrinth loved to play tricks! Unable to slow herself with her heels, Sarah slid down the slope into a tangled heap. Her wrist twisted with a faint popping sound. Unidentifiable pain curled through her fingers.

Sarah twisted the ruby ring on her left hand. The jewel turned round and round, refusing to move forward on her finger, permanently, parasitically attached. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't pull the band off. She learned to accept the ring's presence like she'd promised never to accept his. Once, Jareth had told her that his ring would protect her without extending more details. Sarah never pressed him. Now, she wondered what kind of protection the bauble might have offered and if it still could aid her. If it aided her, would he come? If she held her captor's place, Sarah imagined with an odd quirk to her mouth, she'd rescind all protection in her own infinite and incalculable cruelty. Regardless, she'd almost thought the ring only protected her from Draco. So far, Sarah merely saw or heard subtle signs of the Labyrinth's many dangers. When growls and sulfuric fumes floated up a path, she made sure to avoid walking directly into trouble, but when the sounds and stench of carnivorous death rose to high levels, she took bizarre comfort in Jareth's ring as a dual sign of hope and captivity.

Her wrist throbbed; between the drizzle draining into her eyes and the constant threat of detection, Sarah knew she needed to find shelter. Mud coated her face. Twigs clung nest-like to her hair. She wanted to cry. But she knew the pattern well. Run and hide; avoid _hide_ and _seek_ at all costs. Sarah shifted her remaining pack to her right shoulder, cradled her left wrist in the strap, rose to shaky feet, and continued to navigate painstakingly towards the gate.

x x x x

"Good morning," a soft voice hissed into her faint consciousness.

Sarah turned on her shoulder, strangely warm, strangely dry. She didn't even remember collapsing into sleep the previous night. Memories fluttered. Her wrist moved stiffly, but felt no worse for wear. She stretched, pushing a heavy down coverlet aside into the leaves, turned sideways, and jumped several feet into the air.

From his kneeling position on the mossy cobblestone, Jareth caught her defensive stance out of the corner of his eye. He cleared his throat. "Forgive me for startling you," he said dryly, poking a sausage blazing on his fiery orb. He turned to her, spreading his hands wide in a gesture of goodwill. "Sit down," he ordered.

Instead, she backed up, into the rock ledge behind her. "How did you find me?" she stammered, swallowing rapidly. Her mind spun fast, checking the angles and distances of the surrounding landscape to make ready for escape. _Not in the castle yet, not in the castle yet, not in the castle yet_, she chanted mentally, no further to go than yesterday if only she could pass him…

Steeling his inner calm and steadying his voice, Jareth pulled the sausage from the fire, conjured a table, and set the two as far away as he could without moving. "It took a great deal of diligent time," he offered.

"How?" Sarah demanded. If she discounted his appearance, nearly everything she knew about him, and the obvious magic in the flame, he almost looked like any other wild-haired man cooking a sausage on a camp fire. Camping? She mustn't let him dull her senses.

_My Labyrinth has brought her into her own again_, he noted, hiding a feral smile. Her spirit sent quick bursts of warmth through his dead soul. "Since you are neither a challenger, nor one of my lowly subjects, I cannot track you," Jareth admitted.

Her countenance relaxed visibly. "No magic then?"

"Very little," he conceded, half elaborating, "I am very glad I found you last night though." He stood slowly, avoiding sudden movements just as he would with a skittish animal.

Sarah nudged the heavy coverlet with her foot, fighting her suddenly rebellious stomach. The once pleasant smell of food made her nauseous. Her mouth twisted. "You didn't take me."

"Not in any sense of the word."

Sarah paled, gripping the rock so tightly her raw fingers bled. "You thought…you.. you'd…"

"You made the insinuation, my dear, not I." Jareth lowered his gaze, longing to bandage and pamper her hands. He picked up the plate, took a step forward, and extended the dish to her. "As neither challenger, nor subject, I cannot simply pluck you from the Labyrinth against your will. Have some breakfast."

She eyed the food through narrowed eyes. "No."

"You are hungry and far too skinny." Jareth took another step towards her.

Fighting a reflexive desire to cover herself, Sarah looked left and right, avoiding his approaching eyes, searching for an escape route. "Don't look at me," she hissed.

"Come home with me," he crooned, standing over her.

_Once escaped and in shit-tons of trouble, might as well stay that way_, she thought, swiftly kneeing him in the groin. Apparently, whatever he was, he had the same sensitivities. Regrettably, the sizzling sausage flew into the air lost, but his pained growl gave her the perfect opportunity to duck under his arm and run. Jareth cursed, reached for her arm, and missed. Sarah flew, heart set on the boundary of the Labyrinth.

For a long moment after righting himself, Jareth merely watched her. He sighed. Then he caught the sent of the chase. His eyes turned.

x x x x

By mid-afternoon, Sarah forced herself to concede that she was thoroughly lost. Whatever so-called system of navigation previously worked now failed. She couldn't get a clear reading on the sun or her surroundings. The Labyrinth kept trapping her in tiny little boxes, once so small she couldn't move. And she couldn't tell if she'd begun to approach the edge, or turned around completely.

She thought of trying to climb the walls again, in order to see the whole maze, but experimental evidence suggested certain futility. Sarah guessed that the Labyrinth felt violated by her attempts to break the rules and scale her sides. Each time she tried, she was repelled. Generally, she found herself on her butt in the middle of the path while the very bricks squawked at her, chiding, she assumed, in their own language. On other occasions, the walls began to curve and bend, driving her to such nausea she had to close her eyes. Sometimes, cedar hedges or glass cut stone stopped her attempts before they began. The last time she tried climbing, a colony of large green ants erupted from the crevices between her fingers, stinging her palms. She'd screamed so loudly she was sure the king would appear, laughing his head off. After that, Sarah resolved to leave the walls alone. Staring at the patterned cobble stone beneath her worn slippers, she reaffirmed that choice.

She couldn't focus her mind either. She violently shoved every distraction into neatly filed categories in the back of her mind: Why I hate the Goblin King, Why I must outrun the Goblin King or die trying, Why he terrifies me…etc. etc. and so forth. Her mental filing cabinet kept threatening to burst, but she didn't have time to stop, weep, or scream. Visions of his alien eyes skulked behind her own pupils. She grew accustomed to spots dancing in her vision. Nevertheless, she remembered the philosophy class that seemed a lifetime ago: when lost in the woods, pick a probable direction and proceed, because certainty is impossible and sitting still will accomplish nothing. So she tried not to panic, now knowing just how close the predator stalked.

He'd seemed so calm, almost kindly, so absurdly normal, cooking sausage over an albeit magical camp fire. Even the fire reflected in his eyes smoldered. She knew he intended to trick her, feeling most confused because he'd chosen such an obvious ploy. A little surprised mixed with her disgust again because he hadn't just taken her while she slept. Of course, hadn't he explained that he couldn't take her from within the Labyrinth's against her will? Still, the glint in his eye that had diminished definitely remained. She knew better than to trust his words, at least at face value. _Simply_, he'd said. It meant there was a way—at least one. And once recaptured…She knew exactly what he'd do. She'd felt the shockwaves of his rage before; now, his temper could only be magnified. The cruel bastard! The evil ….

A long, low growl interrupted her mental tirade. The hairs on the back of Sarah's neck instantly stood on end. She looked around for Jareth, but saw no danger. The baying came again, closer. Forgetting to hurl insults at the king, Sarah picked up her remaining skirts and hurried away.

x x x x

Jareth caught her scent on the breeze, flitting between the birds. Longing to hunt with them, he leapt into the air, sprouting wings in a cascade of feathers that disappeared as they hit the ground. He soared higher and higher, scanning with super-sensitive asymmetrical ears. Sarah's feet pattered lightly in the distance. Spreading his wings a little wider, he swooped silently down over the Labyrinth's winding paths, searching for his beloved. She circled aimlessly. She could not be allowed to disappear into the realm beyond. At his suggestion, the serpentine corridors twisted and shifted, systematically lessening her chances of escape further still. He screeched satisfaction and tore into the chase.


	35. The Big Bad Wolf

Persephone 35

The Big Bad Wolf

This time, she walked straight into the wall. Whether she didn't see it coming or the Labyrinth simply changed so fast, she didn't know. She might have been looking down to avoid the puddles. But regardless of how it happened, her forehead and the wet stone simply didn't agree. Sarah pressed her hand to the infant bruise and swore; in a far-away life-time, her classmates would have been shocked. At least the soggy haze permeating the air had broken; she relished the sunshine. But looking on the bright side, sunny-side-up, glass-half-full garbage no longer suited Sarah. If nothing else, she aught to at least learn something in her misadventures, and of all the inanely clumsy, stupid, mundane…

Tinkling laughter stopped her from making the equally foolish choice of kicking the wall in frustration. She spun round, widening her stance in defense.

"That was right smart me dearie," a high pitched voice squeaked in between giggles.

Sarah gaped at the speaker, a little blue pixie right out of a story book, with wide eyes, turned-up ears, a green hat, and a bright yellow jerkin on a spindly frame. As soon as she turned, the wall shifted too. She saw the pixie man standing on it, and looking over her shoulder, an open corridor where she'd just been heading. With blooming self awareness, she closed her gaping mouth and forced it to form words. "Did I just come that way, or go that way?" she asked, rubbing the lump on her forehead.

"I donna rightly know," the pixie chirped, jumping from foot to foot. Impossibly, his eyes grew bigger. "Where did ya wanna to go?"

"Well…" By her first impression, a little blue man with big eyes and smile seemed far too cuddly-natured to trust. But she had learned to disregard first impressions, and even to take them, at times, for the exact opposite at great success. Yet, he seemed far too interested, even proud, of her untimely reaction with the wall, casting her impressions entirely in the other direction. Sarah decided she was thinking too much. "I'm just going," she said, glancing over her shoulder.

"That's not much of an answer," he quipped, leaping into the seemingly empty air in the middle of the pathway. Sarah stepped forward, afraid he might fall too far for his delicate legs, but another wall appeared out of nowhere, springing up from the matching cobblestone floor. She jumped backwards. He landed gracefully, giggling and hopping back and forth. "Sweet, sweet girl," he teased, "where is it you wanna to go? I like to guide a merry traveler."

He leapt high into the air, descending to touch the bricks with one toe before bouncing high, again and again. The walls he tapped vanished, leaving as clear a path as a battering ram. Sarah chased after the skipping fiend.

"Away from the center," she ventured, straining her ears for the flapping of wings. "Towards the garden gate, with the fountains and the infestation of biting fairies." It almost hurt to give out so much information, even potentially incomprehensible information. She'd take any gate, but preferred the idea of familiarity even if the king was more likely to predict her movements there. Her stomach rumbled.

"And in a hurry?" he winked, bowing low. "'Twould be me gift to take you to a little patch of safety."

She knew she was far too trusting by nature. "Where?"

"To rest and sleep. Maybe to eat?" he tempted, pointing at her stomach.

"Where?" Sarah repeated, setting her jaw.

The pixie pointed towards where she assumed the garden exit hid. "Along your way, true that, along your way." Jumping again, he sliced through the massive stone walls before her, whistling shrilly as he went.

Once Sarah jogged through the opening, the Labyrinth's wounds closed behind her, scar free. She would never make faster progress going around, even if she didn't get lost. Scanning the skies, she felt sure she spotted an owl in the afternoon cloud cover. But she could cope with a little shrill whistling and watch her back at the same time. "I'd appreciate that," she said.

With a giggle and an atonal little tune, he bounced ahead. Sarah followed quickly after his tiny blue heels.

x x x x

Not an hour after they'd started, Sarah had made more progress than she could have expected on her own in a half-a-day. And she knew, with almost perfect certainty, that she wasn't going in circles, and only slightly less certainty that she was reaching the outskirts. She wanted to ask how he changed the walls, but he whistled louder every time she tried to ask and ignored her. Frustrated, but grateful, Sarah focused on keeping up and maintaining some sense of her bearings. Just as she'd gotten used to the whistling, it abruptly stopped.

Her little blue Bombadil perched on top of a wall like any other, stretching high to see beyond the other side. "This should be just the end then," he murmured to himself, hopped once, and landed coyly in the gap.

Sarah peered through the hole. Her eyes widened at the vast expanse of twisted, gnarled trees, tangled vines, and moist, glitter high-lighted moss. Her stomach dropped. "Is this," she tried to keep her voice steady, fighting her throat. "Is this the firey forest?"

"Well," said her companion, "a little bit isa and a little bit isnah."

"The forest, or the forest where firey's live?" she clarified.

"Tis all forest," he answered, strolling forward. He stopped beside a tall oak-like tree and rapped sharply on the trunk. "It runs in a ring through most of Labyrinth. Most challengers donna make it past the forest."

Sarah pursed her lips, forming her words carefully. She felt like a child trying to ask a difficult teacher for permission to use the bathroom while forgetting the difference between _may_ and _can_, but with incomparably higher stakes. "So the forest marks the boundary between the inner and outer parts of the Labyrinth?" she queried, strolling after the pixie with the most casual air she could conjure. And she'd thought she was nearing safety. If it marked the boundary, she was no where near the outskirts. Dread pooled in her stomach at the thought of distance. She couldn't remember when she'd last eaten. She'd collapse if she wasn't getting close to escape. Then, with or without magic, he would find her. Her desperate hope for the promised place of safety grew equally more tangible, and more stark.

"Right you are. Right you are indeed." The little man furrowed his brow, knocking the tree trunk a few inches to the left. "You have a ways to go, but you wonna meet any Fireys. They're a partying in the west today. No, no fears for your pretty head."

Sarah nodded, pulling her gaze back from her visions of the king's cruelty, strangely comforted by that fact, despite the confirmation of her fears. "Where do I go from here?" she asked, picking at the calluses on her hands. "How far is it?"

"An hour or two if you go right. Sadly, I canna go to guide you," he chirruped, "for I live among the stones and only the stones will have me." The third time he struck the tree, it sounded hollow. The little man grunted satisfaction.

Before Sarah's eyes, a path appeared on the forest floor, unrolling like an infinite carpet. "Thank you!" she gasped before she realized what the path must mean. Her hopes weren't all dashed. She gathered her remaining strength to set out alone.

The pixie nodded, beaming so widely that his face seemed sure to burst. "You canna wrong. Now follow this path to rest and safety."

After thanking him profusely, Sarah trotted into the woods, singing an atonal melody under her breath.

x x x x

Before long, the ribbon path led her to a little thatched cottage in the forest. Sarah couldn't help but grin at the fairytale place. If it had been covered in candy, she would have mistaken the place for Hansel and Gretel's hideaway. Better then, she mused, that the little house looked like that of the seven dwarves. She wanted to eat without worrying about being eaten.

The door hung open and inviting, bright despite the dusk. Sure that her Bombadil had meant the cottage when he mentioned safety and not wanting to end up exposed in the forest at night, she tentatively stepped inside, locking the door behind her.

On the interior, the cottage clearly waited for visitors. A cozy fire sizzled in the hearth to fight the chill of the early summer evening. An impressive seven-course spread with roast beef, ham, soup, and custard steamed on the table. Afraid to overload her senses with joy, or her pained stomach with food, Sarah snatched a roll to munch on while exploring the rest of the cottage and cataloguing her new found resources for respite.

In the second room, a bathtub waited, filled to the brim with clear water. Just breathing, she felt steam on her cheeks. The hand she dipped underwater felt instantly revived. She splashed water on her face and wiped the grime away with a downy towel. Her features left black imprints on the white fabric, but the immediate clean tingle left Sarah sighing in pleasure.

She grabbed another roll on her way to explore the third room where the bed called to her with a sonorous feather pillow voice. Sarah dropped her roll just inside the door.

"My, what big eyes you have," said the Goblin King placidly, his eyes rising from a book as he perched on the window sill.

Her mind screamed though no sound left her mouth. Trapped! Panicked, she bolted for the door, crossing the cottage floor in three long strides. She fumbled the lock, put in place by her own hands, clawing at it with her fingernails. The door wouldn't budge. The wood splintered. She heard booted footsteps booming behind her. Chills raced up and down her spine at the crass betrayal and at her own stupidity.

"I wish you would broaden your definition of safety Sarah," he said archly. "You were not lied to." He framed the doorway, straightened to his full height.

She balled her hands into fists before turning around to face him, pushing her nails into her palms. Her hands felt rougher now; she couldn't make enough pressure to reassure herself. "But you'll take me back."

"No," he corrected, staring her down, noting every flaw and new blemish. "You need to eat. You do not trust what you find in your adventures, as you well should not, nor what is offered you."

She paled. Even pushing her full weight into the door didn't budge it. "You've found out how to watch me now?"

Jareth smiled, leaning casually against the wall. "Sadly, no. Rather, I know you. Better that you do not make omelets full of magic mushrooms anyway." She opened her mouth to protest, but he held up one finger, wagging it lightly as he continued. "Now, you need to know the rules of this house before you will trust it to help you, especially given this afternoon's escapade." He retreated a step, then two, gesturing her to sit at the table, but she didn't move.

Glancing down, Sarah noticed two place settings. Her eyes bored into his; the afternoon's betrayal stung again. "You sent him to trick me."

Jareth sighed. "It is more complicated than that. And I allowed you to make considerable progress in order to get you here. Generously…" he offered a mock bow, "to a place of safety."

_What have you done that's generous? _Sarah shook her head, trying to clear the dizzy image from her mind. Staircases swirled in her memory. She hadn't thought of that mad room, those words, or that look, in a long time. She wanted to lie down…."No…" she stammered.

"I completely cleared your path to the wall charmer," he continued with a sharp, steely edge in his voice. He might as well have been circling her. "I have pulled as many dangerous obstacles as I can from the paths. But you are not a challenger, so I cannot control them all." He looked paler and all the more frightening.

"I don't think there is anything that dangerous," Sarah challenged, pushing her hair out of her eyes. "You just want to scare me. I don't need your help. I don't need you."

"Sometimes my dear, your expectations blind you."

"I'll take my chances." She squared her chin and shoulders, setting her features. "Open the door."

"Pray let me finish what I began," Jareth chuckled. "Ready to listen sweet?"

Sarah inclined her head half-way. Her eyes never left his face.

He spread his hands wide in a gesture of surrender. "This house stands as Hermes' gift to fellow travelers, but like the trickster, his gift is not without a sense of humor. The cottage will shelter, feed, and clothe you, providing every comfort, as long as you stay." He cleared his throat and caught her pressing her lips together, fighting the protest. "But, it will not release you until it has had the privilege of playing host. So you see, you need not ever accept my hospitality, but should you wish to leave and run for the edge of existence," his eyes twinkled, "you shall have to avail yourself of its."

Her gray-green eyes narrowed. "So if I never ate the food…"

"You could claw at the door until you bled to death."

"That's sickening."

"But if you simply partake of the proffered hospitality without questioning, you would feel nothing but gratitude."

Sarah bit her lower lip. "In the stories, the hero always needs to resist temptation." In her own mind, she wondered if she'd already failed. "And wasn't I supposed to learn not to take anything for granted?"

Jareth raised an eyebrow. "Expectations, much?"

She reached behind her to push on the door. The heavy frame still didn't budge. She sucked in an icy deep breath. "Why should I believe you?"

His smirk widened. "Because otherwise, you will stay here forever. Of course, I would be sure to drop in and keep you company…"

The look in his eye implicated anything but congenial company. Sarah spat weakly at his boots. Having never practiced such gross defiance, she hit her mark through sheer luck.

His mouth quirked, but he didn't honor her with a reaction, though he would have bended her over his knee and spanked her viciously at home. "And because others will verify my story." With that, he shimmered out of sight.

But Sarah didn't watch him go. "Hoggle!"

Her friend appeared in a chair at the table, looking slightly dazed from dislocation, but otherwise well—far better than when she'd first returned and seen a dilapidated shell. He wore a clean vest and his eye had lost the dullness of neglect. She nearly knocked him off the chair in the urgency of her embrace. Hoggle didn't chide her for the overwhelming display of affection or tell her to get off. He didn't even protest.

"I's glad to see you too," he said at last, sad and peeveish all at once. "But you better eat up now because 'is Majesty didn't lie, and the food's hot."

In her mad quest for nourishment, Sarah forgot every table manner that Karen or Alexander had ever drilled into her head. She tore at the meat, ate globs of mashed potatoes with her hands, stuffed whole carrots into her mouth, and swipped fingerfuls of whipped cream from the custard. She tried to chew and question and swallow all at once, but Hoggle rolled his eyes at her and held up a hand, insisting that her barrage of questions wait until the end of the meal. She'd never imagined him as a stickler for etiquette, but she supposed her ravenous nature made her repulsive. And Hoggle wanted her to enjoy the first real food she'd had in days. He understood. "That's probably enough for now," the dwarf grunted ten minutes later as he pushed a napkin at her across the table.

"I'm so happy to see you," she gasped, simultaneously dabbing at misty eyes and her mouth. "I've been so lonely and so afraid for us all." She paused, not wanting to start with difficult subjects. "You look well Hoggle…"

"I is," he nodded gruffly, setting his own plate aside. "'Is Majesty has us all employed again on account of you."

Sarah pursed her lips. "When I left, again, he didn't…"

"No, he didn't."

"Thank heavens." She leapt out of her chair to embrace him again.

This time, he gently pushed her away. "He was angry though. Angrier than I've ever seen him. Destroyed his study over and over again."

"Serves him right."

"Yes, it does."

Sarah paused. "He didn't hurt anyone on my behalf?"

Hoggle shook his head. "Not this time," he couldn't conceal a shudder. "Not like last time."

Suddenly, her stomach felt too full and painfully empty all at the same time. Sarah swallowed. "Why did he send you to me? After all that time keeping me away from you, telling me to steer clear of those beneath my station…" She smiled at him just in case he thought she'd considered the king's words the truth, but Hoggle didn't need the reassurance. "Now he's given me a guide. I'm setting off for the edge again, tomorrow or the day after, as soon as I've slept…"

"Don't get too excited missy," the dwarf cut her off, itching the less new scar over his eye. "I can't leave this place."

"Oh." Her face fell. "Then….?"

"He wants me to sing his praises, that's what he wants."

It was Sarah's turn to roll her eyes. "His praises?"

"To tell you what he's done for me."

"Right," she snorted, eyeing an untouched chocolate cake across the table.

"Let's see. I's got me old job back, tending gardens, though not gardens I can tend to anywhere out of 'is sight. Didymus is back by the bog-- says he smells it now though. And Ludo calls rocks to help in construction," he counted on weathered fingers. "Oaf has already forgotten about the Tower." His grimace reminded Sarah of their first meeting, and the coward cowering just behind his gruff façade.

"Lucky Ludo," she whispered. Sometimes she longed for simplicity. She thought her intellect could be sacrificed for the peace Lethe would bring. Part of her wished she could forget; but his taunts, jeers, and uninvited touches would stay in her mind forever. And maybe then she would loose some of her value in the king's eyes. Instead, his penchant for torments rooted in her mind, burned in by his and Draco's abuse.

Hoggle nodded, toying anxiously with a fork. "He wants me to say how happy I am, how well taken care of. Bah!"

"You don't have to." Disgusted, her stomach roiled and writhed. Sarah pressed her hand over it.

"But I is," Hoggle groaned, "well enough. Now."

Sarah put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. "That doesn't erase the past. He could be more than perfectly kind to me for one hundred years," she bit her lip, fighting a dark laugh, "I still won't forgive him."

"Once upon a time, I told yous ta learn to live with 'im, to like him," Hoggle glanced at her left hand before lowering his eyes. He couldn't bring himself to look at her face.

"Everyone did." With a pang of guilt, she thought of Gilda, left alone in the castle. Her own loneliness barely ached compared to the guilt of leaving her friends in that awful place.

"I can't tell ya that' anymore," Hoggle whispered.

Sarah smiled, suddenly lit from within. If only they knew, they would feel her joy. A little bit of guilt faded along with the pain in her stomach. "You think I can make it! You think I can get out?"

"No." Hoggle shook his head slowly. "I'm sure you can't."

Sprinting, Sarah barely made it to the basin before she vomited.


	36. Artemis Afoul

Author's Note: Apologies for the long absence, and my sincere gratitude to everyone who checked up on me. Long story short, life can be a real bitch, and horribly unfair. I'm home from college for the semester because something is horribly wrong with my leg(s) despite this summer's surgery. But, once again, I've begun trying to write instead of wallowing, so hopefully, Persephone will benefit and writing will be my silver lining.

Persephone 36

Artemis Afoul

"Can you think, can you think of any solidly horrible consequence of leaving the boundaries of the kingdom?" Sarah asked when the retching stopped and she could sit down again. She sipped delicately at a pale juice to distract her taste buds from the acid lingering in her mouth.

"Nuttin' solid, per say, no," Hoggle grunted, picking the raisins out of a sweet cake. "I's don't think you'll wink out of existence or anythin', I don't think anyways…"

"That's a relief," Sarah cut in.

"There's just nothing there. And you can't possible make..."

"That's your opinion…" she caught herself, "what do you mean 'nothing there?'"

"You's saw the edge of the outskirts when you started," Hoggle reminded her, popping humiliated grapes into his mouth. "There's wilderness, but it's barren."

Sarah shrugged. "What's wrong with that?" If she could survive in the Labyrinth as a wild thing while the king hunted her, barren wilderness couldn't be so unfriendly. She imagined herself eating grass if it came to it, disgusted with the taste and texture, but satisfied with her freedom. And she speculated, wildly she knew, that somehow she might find a way out, either in the form of a path home, back to her world and to Toby, or a path anywhere else. Sarah couldn't help believing that less repressive fairytales must exist somewhere in the Underground, even if the thought seemed too glass-half-full for her present tastes.

"Wrong with that?" Hoggle guffawed, cutting into her reverie. "You'd starve, be alone and unprotected from the wilds and the other kingdoms." He pounded his leathery fist down on the table, jumped when the dishes rattled and grabbed the edge to stop the china cacophony. "And you can't get out, so why wonder?"

"I think I can," she hissed, wincing at her own harsh tone. Her tongue still tasted terrible sour. She paused, gingerly lifting her glass from the table. "Hoggle, I have to think that I can."

"'Is Majesty says…"

"What does he say?" she snarled, emblazoned with confidence while safe inside. "What does he…"

"He says yous can't escape!"

Her breath escaped in a soft huff before her anger took over again. "Who says he's not lying? Or bending the truth? I can't just assume that this dubious statement is true and give up…"

Hoggle rolled his eyes, irritated and crestfallen at the same time.

"You just told me not to try to like him, not to try to get along! And there's nothing to like. He may be…well, dangerously handsome, but that's the wrong kind of allure…" Sarah paused, trying to think of any better asset in the king. She could recognize a certain strength required to hold his teetering kingdom together, and disturbing charisma. But she shuddered at the callous, possessive way he treated others. She shook her head. "He's too cruel."

"I know, I know."

Sarah couldn't stop the rising sense of universal betrayal. "Then what am I supposed to do?" she slammed her glass down hard. The platters rattled.

Hoggle grabbed the edge of the table, damping the vibrations again. "I's don't know."

"I have to do something," she said, catching his look. She saw her dismal expression reflected in his face. "And the last thing—the last thing—I'm going to try is cozying up to that man. Not when he's already done such horrible things to me. I can't imagine what he'd do," her throat constricted against her will, "if he had my permission."

"Can…," his eyes floated away. The raisin bread lay forgotten. He looked back at her, staring her down. "Can you's imagine worse?"

Sarah sighed. Her eyes feel closed. "Of course I can. I can imagine what he tried to do to me…and I know there's worse. I can imagine what he'll do if I fail, if he catches me. But I can imagine better too. And fear of something worse…that's a horrible reason to sacrifice all that's left of my life now."

"He's very angry. He'll be…"

"More aggressive, I know!" she flung up her hands, before wrapping her arms around herself. "But he's already angry. Who cares? He's always angry and he's always cruel." She sighed, "And when he isn't, he's just planning. I don't want to think about that what if."

Hoggle cleared his throat. "He will be worse if he's has to catch you's," he said slowly.

She shook her head, blinking furiously. "But it doesn't matter. More or less angry, he'll still…abuse me."

"Then you's should keep running. I wish I's could tell yous you'd make it."

Sarah patted the back of her friend's hand. Her eyes ached with hidden tears and exhaustion. "You can hope for me. And tell the others what I'm doing."

Hoggle shifted in his seat, avoiding her watery gaze. "Oh Sarah I…"

"It doesn't matter," she interrupted softly. "He already knows. I'm running against him."

x x x x

He retired late, feeling that strange, actual need for sleep after days spent herding his love to temporary safety, only to find Sophia waiting for him. Truly horrible hunting. The lady's-maid-without-a-lady fixed him with a ferocious stare. "What mischief is this?" she demanded before he had time to breath. "Running free in the Labyrinth? 'Tis utter, utter nonsense!"

"Do tell her that," he quipped.

She glared at him as he pulled off his shirt, not taking the cue for dismissal, hands resolutely on her hips. "And why did she fly?"

"Because she hates me." He threw the shirt to the floor. "Leave off, I'm tired."

The old woman daintily lifted the shirt by one corner and threw it at him. "Pick up after yourself. Why do you make such messes, such tangles, and refuse to clean them up?"

Turning to face her, Jareth didn't bother to catch the shirt. The white linen vanished in a crystal. "Get out, old woman," he muttered, headed for his bed chamber. "Tonight, I need to sleep."

Sophia rolled her eyes, raising her stout gaze from his chest and his face. "You could have told me the truth about her. I, who have cleaned and fed and clothed you since you were a boy with a snotty nose and a half-ruined eye. No sense lying to me my once-little majesty."

He stopped by the door, one hand lingering on the latch. He kept his expression neutral, cool, perpetually masked. "Why Sophia?"

The old woman shook her head in dismay, looking down her nose despite the height difference. "Because I would have wanted to help you. Just like the others. Too see you happy." She snorted. "And because you need help."

"You and my mother, and Adele, and Alexander," he pushed the door open with a mental shove.

"You never did listen. Not even as a boy."

Jareth sneered, baring his canines out of habit. He stretched himself across the door way, palms on either side of the frame, leaning lazily. "Why then, does everyone so prefer me to my primogenitured brother?"

"Because you can be both harsh and fair. The pressure to be so good, without real power, is too great, I know." Sophia smiled sadly and brushed her fingers against the Goblin King's cheek, seeing him boyish and fair instead of cruelly handsome. She remembered him as a child, constantly coddled and frustrated by a family thrilled with their heir and spare, almost previously unheard of in an extended family of blond daughters. Before descending into years of madness, his father ignored, and ultimately banished, his cleverer son, almost afraid to indulge the child with real political flair over violent, but driven Draco. Sophia herself had comforted the weeping mother the night Jareth became Goblin King. But Savionne had never let her second son see her tears. Only Lindel had run to her older brother's arms, crying and screaming. He scooped the little girl into his arms, heedless of her tears on his velvet coronation doublet. The elder brother stroked her hair and shamelessly promised to visit often before returning the princess to Sophia. When he walked into Navarre's throne room, he held his face like regal stone. "It is not your fault you never learned to love," she said simply, "but you must not take your inexperience out on her."

Jareth's eyes flashed, but he hung his head. "That is too bold."

The old woman shrugged and withdrew her wrinkled hand. She remembered the fleeting looks of real longing in his eyes, scattered across centuries of living. "What's said is said," she scoffed. "Think on it."

x x x x

Trusting Hoggle's word rather than the king's, and having found that the cabin door now opened, closed, and reopened, Sarah decided to rest and enjoy the little house's curious hospitality a little longer. With her dear friend standing guard, she finally allowed herself to sleep. Even nearly two days of log-like sleep didn't erase the dark circles under her eyes, but she felt better than she had since leaving the fair apple Daphnes. She breathed easier with Hoggle for company, thoroughly enjoying meals for his company and their sustenance.

"What about Gilda? And that girl…that Lyja?" she asked at breakfast on her third morning. The table at Hermes' house overflowed with oatmeal and French toast, complete with real maple syrup just like at home. She thanked the house for reading her mind as she poured syrup over her plate.

"Gilda, she's ah, she's still workin' in the kitchens, that's what I hears. And Lyja's, she's still in the tower. Where she belongs." Hoggle gave the sticky brown liquid on Sarah's plate a wary glance before continuing. "Everyone in the castle misses you something fierce. Theys worried too."

Sarah nodded, bringing a spoonful of oatmeal to her mouth. "Tell them I'm as well as can be," she said, blowing on the cereal to cool it.

"And theys routin' for you, of course."

"I know," she smiled between bites. "That means a lot to me."

For a few minutes, they sat in silence until Sarah scrapped the bottom of her oatmeal bowl and set the sticky French toast plate aside. The dirty dishes vanished as if they'd never been there. "Thank you," she said to the house. Hoggle grunted in vague embarrassment, but she rolled her eyes at him.

A moment later—"Sarah?"

She knew what he intended to ask. "Yes?"

The dwarf cleared his throat, pursing leathery lips. "When will you's go?"

Her eyes drifted towards the ceiling. "Tomorrow," she replied. "I want to get cleaned up tonight, and pick something without holes out of the closet, and get one more nights sleep. Then," she caught his eye, unable to avoid glancing at the scar through his lid, "then I'll make my run for it."

"Sarah…"

"Please don't argue with me Hoggle. I have to try," she shook her head, pushing away visions of the king's savage pleasantries. "I just have to."

x x x x

Sarah always hated saying goodbye, but this time, if she succeeded in her escape, her goodbye would certainly be forever. She couldn't form the words. Instead, she told Hoggle that she couldn't say adieu. Maybe someday she could steal her friends away to the wastes too, once she established her own life in the barren orange grasses. She hugged him tight and withheld her tears. He didn't shrug her off, but soon sent the girl on her way to avoid showing any emotion of his own.

With clean men's riding breeches, a calico shirt, and a satchel of bread, nuts and cheese over her shoulder, Sarah headed back into the woods. She oriented herself to the red Underground sun and renewed her quest for the outskirts. In hindsight, the first four hours went so well that she should have expected something to go horribly wrong. She left the forest and returned to an unfamiliar crumbled stone portion of the labyrinth. The walls seemed to creep higher and higher. Tormented faces hid in the stonework. Sarah shuddered at a decapitated statue, turned away, and fell.

This time, there was no shaft of hands to pretend to help. Her eyes watered as she fell, unable to blink. The dusty darkness invaded her vision as she landed. Sarah recognized the oubliette by the smell.

She inhaled sharp and fast, one hand over her racing heart. The trap door above her close, leaving her in total darkness. Sarah closed her eyes and opened them, then waved her hand in front of her face. She couldn't see any change. Biting her lip to contain the outburst, she rearranged her tangled limbs on the cold floor. Nothing broken, just very bruised, she sighed in relief. Pressing her purple and blue knees to the floor, she crawled around the space, feeling every nook and cranny with ginger fingertips. With the exception of cobwebs, the place was entirely empty, and no larger than her closet at home. Feeling round in the dark, Sarah soon became quite disoriented. She leaned back against the wall, resting her head on her hands.

Her eyes would not adjust to the darkness. Finally, she chocked back a sob, screamed, screamed, and screamed.

x x x x

The trouble with oubliettes, Jareth mused, was that they weren't the happy "little places of forgetting" they were made out to be. Certainly, he dropped many an escaped prisoner into the oubliettes surrounding the North Tower, happy to let "the hole's" darker nature solve his tedious problems as the Underground's jail keeper. Lonely death in an oubliette even seemed too kind for murders, but the punishment sufficed, whether accidental or incidental. Sometimes, he let criminals escape just for the excuse of it, amused at their false joy in escaping the inescapable prison. He half enjoyed calling the alert and sending his denizens scurrying to their homes in a panic. They never understood the joke, but he got a good laugh out of watching them hide from 'escaped' convicts. Indeed, when the goblins needed a firm hand he threatened and dropped them in too, sure to mark the location well and release them before they starved or went madder than they had been when they entered. For more often than not, the oubliettes introduced their victims to insanity, starvation, and dehydration, before death, though not necessarily in that particular order.


	37. In the Oubliette

Author's Note: _One Feather_ soon to come.

Persephone 37

In the Oubliette

She reigned herself in before her voice became completely raw. Screaming felt so much more comfortable. She forced herself to take deep breaths, rubbing her suddenly freezing extremities. She jogged lightly in place, ducking her head to avoid the ceiling. With chattering teeth, she tried not to hiccup, gasp, or cry out. Eventually, she worked the blood flow back into her calves. As her circulation returned to normal, Sarah felt her panic passing. Unfortunately, the dust that billowed up when she fell refused to settle. It invaded her lungs even when she breathed through her nose, further irritating her throat. Sarah fought hard against coughing, knowing that it would only make her feel worse, but kept losing the battle.

Although she couldn't see her own hand in front of her face, Sarah remembered her prior escape from the oubliette, for that was undoubtedly where she found herself now. She would have given anything to hear Hoggle's hooting laugh. The silence unnerved her. Instead, she crawled slowly hand over hand around on the floor, placing each palm down delicately. The floor felt smooth, though floury, to her dry hands. Nothing pricked her. Sarah found the walls much more quickly than she predicted, and surmised that this oubliette was only about half the size of the one in her memory. It was certainly dirtier, if that was possible, though Sarah barely noticed, and perhaps less used. She half expected to find a mangy, decaying body, or moldy bones. Instead, she merely squished a dead spider nest under her palms. She paused to wipe the cakey residue on her shirt hem. Cobwebs still clung to her eyelashes. She pushed the claustrophobia away and continued to search for any hint of an exit. Steadying herself for a moment, she decided not to worry about the spiders.

Hours or days later, she couldn't know, Sarah felt sure she'd touched every surface in the stony cavern at least twice and discovered nothing but solid crag. None of the stone moved. None of the grooves or bumps revealed a secret catch. There certainly was no door, nor a hidden board or broom closet on the floor. On the other hand, she probably shouldn't expect all oubliettes to have an escape anyway—especially not when the King seemed to have planned her first trip so thoroughly. There was no reason to expect him to find her, or even know where she was. Perhaps such abandonment wouldn't end so badly; perhaps she truly did prefer death to his penetrating hands, but she feared the torture of starvation. Her stomach growled. Sarah slid down the wall, sitting as softly as possible, but still sending up clouds of dust, and slipped her scrapped hand into her mouth in thought.

She didn't know how long she'd spent in the oubliette. Without any change in the perpetual darkness, she could have spent an hour, a week, or a year in the hole. Staring into the darkness, she didn't know when she slipped in and out of consciousness. Dreams haunted her consciousness just as consciousness haunted her nightmares. She tried not to think about the amount of air in the cavern, but blamed her faintness on dehydration and hunger. Soon, her stomach stopped rumbling, but her lips remained parched.

In this place, she could begin to forget herself. But then, she already had. She saw her old life as if through a mirrored fog. Even the time in the castle seemed distant, but high school with Brent and Madeleine, Toby, her family, her countless passions,…they all seemed worlds away. Toby's smile seemed like a hazy memory that she had to pull together in order to recollect—a lip here, a green eye, front teeth about to wiggle. How he must have grown! And if he remembered his sister, how he must miss her. She wondered how Nightengale's foal, Aspera, she recalled the name with a sigh, was growing. She'd forgotten to ask Hoggle so many questions. And she couldn't ask anyone about her home. More and more, her memory felt like a sieve, slowly succumbing to the powers of Lethe.

Would the king slowly forget her? She wished he would fade, but his electric presence continually pressed on her brain. His cruel eyes seemed burned into her own retinas, despite the blackness. Sarah pressed her fist over her mouth to stifle a cough or a sob, she could no longer tell.

A dim, fuzzy light behind her eyelids startled her out of a half sleep. "Hoggle?" she gasped as her eyes fluttered open. The orange beam burned her eyes.

"No." The sharp angles of his face contrasted with the darkness as he emerged in the candle light.

Sarah pressed herself against the wall, shocked by the glow flickering across his fine features. "No…" she stammered. "No, you can't…"

"Don't move," he commanded.

Sarah blinked furiously. Her eyes watered. He sounded strangely tired. She stood, brushing her head against the ceiling.

Jareth made a scolding noise with his tongue against the roof of his mouth, just like an irritated owl. "I am not going to come any closer, and you cannot escape anyway. Sit down." With a deft curl of his fingers, he lit another candle, setting it into a stone crevice.

The pain and spots in her vision were starting to fade. She noticed that he had spread the candles around the tiny oubliette. Stranger still, he sat in the far corner with his knees bent up, slouching against the wall, as lazily non-threatening as possible. Although the dust in the cavern didn't stick to his armored shoulder plates, they looked dingy, even tarnished. His face seemed even thinner than usual, haggard, instead of regal. His hair appeared unkempt instead of wild. She could see dark hollows under his eyes. They didn't suit him.

Sarah sunk into a crouch the floor, but kept her feet underneath her. "How did you find me?" she asked, trying to sound confident and unrifled.

Jareth lowered one boot and leaned on his opposite knee. "I lack the power to truly track you, but there are, after all, only so many oubliettes in the Labyrinth." In the gloom, he saw her eyes widen while her pupils shrunk to adjust to the dim illumination.

She pressed her lips together and a hand over her stomach. "And how long have I been here?"

He raised an eyebrow, but answered her question without pause. "About six days, I believe, perhaps seven, since I started seeking you."

She saw his hand move behind his back and flinched away. "A week?"

"Hungry?"

She nodded. "I still don't trust you."

Jareth tossed her a small, wrapped cheese-cloth sack. "As well you should not. Still, I wish to make amends."

Catching the bag, Sarah unwrapped bread, cheese, nuts, and a small flask. She smelled the bread and crumbled a piece between her fingers for closer inspection. The grains cast a tiny network of shadows on the stone wall behind her. "Thank you," she breathed out of sheer habit, while examining the food.

Jareth cleared his throat. "If I wanted to poison or drug you, you would never be able to tell. Either you trust my word, sworn on Lindel and my mother if it must be, or you go hungry."

"Is there a catch?" she asked, making sure to avoid amateur mistakes. "Do I owe you something, or have to trade you something for feeding me?"

"Not this time," Jareth chuckled deep in his throat. He raked a leather-clad hand through his lack-luster mane. "You should never bargain on an empty stomach. I would not impose such a penalty on my enemies."

She nodded and took a tentative bite of cheese. The flavor nearly burst in her mouth, awakening all her taste buds in a deluge of saliva, and bringing forth a tiny moan of pleasure. From his corner, the king merely sighed, pushing his head back to stare up at the ceiling. Two grateful swallows latter, Sarah tried to start questioning him again. "So to what…?"

"No," he parried. "Take your time, finish. Enjoy the light."

She didn't tell him how much the silence scared her. Instead, she devoured the cheese as hastily as possible, sipping at the sweet juice in the flask.

Jareth lowered his head, propping it on one hand. Casually, he stared at her, studying her appearance. Although she had still lost too much weight, she had regained some of her sheen while resting in Hermes' cabin. Her hair stuck out at jagged angles from a sloppy French braid, amusingly reminiscent of his own; though caked in dirt and skittish, she seemed relatively unharmed. Small scrapes and bruises covered her exposed calves and forearms, but the girl didn't look too worse for wear. Pressing his lips into a thin smile, he grunted in near-silent relief.

Sarah jumped like a startled animal. "What is it?" she exclaimed, "I thought you didn't want to talk."

The king shook his head without raising it. "And I do not. Finish eating."

With a painful swallow, she cleared her mouth. "I am. I want to know how…"

"Finish eating. And do not think to ration."

Sarah looked down at her bread, which she had meant to save. She folded the cheese cloth around it, raising her eyes to his. "I can't…"

Jareth held up a hand to silence her. "Finish. You will not starve now…," he stressed his final words, separating their syllables, "…_now I know where you are_."

Sarah bowed her head, judiciously pulling the bread apart with her fingers. Nibbling slowly, she savored each bite, watching his face. His eyes seemed to drift over her body, displeased even behind his mask, but never lingering long. Let him disapprove of me, she thought, and good riddance.

Their eyes locked. Her pupils swelled in anticipation. He glanced away first.

Sarah finished the bread and wiped her face with the clean cloth. Spider silk clung to the loose weave. Disgusted, she cast it away.

"Here," he said, suddenly closer and extending a hand.

With tentative haste, Sarah darted forward, dropped the wrapping in his palm, and retreated.

Jareth returned to his previous position in the corner of the oubliette anyway, chuckling darkly deep in his throat. "I believe they say 'Don't bite the hand that feeds you' in your world dearest little Sarah?"

"They also say that the stomach is the way to the heart," she crossed her arms, "I don't believe any of it."

The cloth vanished in a crystal. "And here, I always thought I would mourn the day you grew up," he quipped.

Sarah couldn't tell if he was playing or not. His tone slid between stealthy sarcasm and snobbery. "Never mind." She took another swig from the flask to stay her nerves, hoping he wouldn't catch the tremor in her hand. "You mentioned bargaining. Why are you here?"

"That much should be obvious."

"It never is."

"Bargaining little Sarah. Bargaining."

She shuddered at the death's head visage in the orange blaze. His eyes seemed to stare out of an illuminated skull. Sarah blinked to clear the monstrous image. Suddenly, the oubliette seemed much more dangerous. "Of course," she stammered, "But what do you want?" she asked, sure she knew the answer.

Jareth rolled his eyes, caught the distressed look on her face and shifted his position. A whiff of tension floated from her shoulders. The corners of his mouth lifted. "Silly girl, I want to whisk you home with me."

"I don't want to be whisked." She subconsciously collected herself into a crouch.

He saw her gather herself for escape, knew flight wasn't possible, and didn't bother to insinuate the chase. Jareth pressed his back into the wall, gritting his teeth. "I know. Sarah, I want to make amends."

Even though she contained her shock, believing him was another matter. A sour taste invaded her mouth. She forced herself to maintain an actresses' poker face, sure to impress even her mother. "That means you think you did something wrong. That's impossible."

Jareth shrugged, plucking a crystal from the air. "I have been…less than magnanimous…at times." The glass glowed crimson, increasing the red tint on their faces.

With a snort, her smile widened. "You're trying to trick me. I can tell. God, I've been here too long, I can tell!" She swiped at her eyes with one dirty hand.

He longed to reach for her wrist, to wash her hands, and pamper her swollen feet. Looking into the past, he thought of his mother's words about her strange love for his depraved father. Even covered in dirt, and justifiably angry, he wanted nothing more than to protect and comfort the girl in her terror, even caused by him. But he could not play both roles, play Janus. He wondered how to rebuild her trust, if he even could, and decided to come a little clean. Jareth sighed, deep and slow, catching her eye. "Well, I am."

Her face crumbled. Sarah rubbed her knuckles into her eyes. "And you want me to trust you?" she scoffed. "It's almost funny!"

Jareth lowered his gaze, looking forward through his bangs. "Tell me what I can do to persuade you to return with me," he pleaded, begging her to remain calm. "You cannot wish to stay here..."

"In the dark, with the dust and the spiders?" she turned her back on him, blinking furiously at the shadows he cast on the wall. He looked a mountain of spikes. Of harsh treatment and threats. Of promises. The candlelight flickered, threatening to fade. "Oh, I'd rather."

"Sarah…"

The way he said her name made her shiver. "Stop it," she snarled.

Grime drifted through the air, coating them both against their notice. The silence hung thick for a moment before Jareth caught sight of the tremble in her shoulders. The king longed to touch her, but knew she would never accept his affections as comfortingly meant. And he had promised them both that much.

"Sarah…" he tried again.

Her voice came out in a shallow, rasping whisper. "I know you would never rescind on our original deal, so there's no use trying. You won't give me back my freedom, let me go home, or see my family, not even for a moment. I never expected that. I never even meant to run away, but it happened, and I'm taking advantage… I know what I promised to do," she shook her head, as if to rid herself of a bothersome fly or disturbing thought, "and of course the terms weren't fair, or even justified, but I accepted that fate, even when the deal kept getting worse. Be your caged pet, be your…your wife. I did it for my brother. For my family. Still, stupidly, I thought I could believe some of your promises. I thought maybe you would be like I imagined you, dangerous, cold and enigmatic, but at least fair. A Machiavellian ruler at best. I even expected to have a little peace. "

"Dearest Sarah," he murmured, fueling his voice with all his frustrated desire to touch her, "of course you can. Let me try again."

"That's why I stopped asking you questions." Sarah rounded her shoulders, exhaling so hard her chest burned. She stared at the grime under her nails, wishing to burn it away. Her words flooded out in a breathy rush. "I didn't you think you'd hear, but I thought you might at least shut up. And all these epithets? Dearest? Darling? Beloved? It's ridiculous."

"I am listening now," he grated, harsher than he meant. Biting the inside corner of his lip, he held his tongue.

"Too little too late?" Afraid to look at him, she hiccupped into her hand, then cleared her throat. "You promised me everything I asked for and everything I could ever want. But I don't want jewels or royalty. Maybe once I did, but I've learned. And I always knew there was more to life and happiness than cold stones and finery. I certainly don't want you…" She paused, afraid to garner momentum again. She expected him to leap on her exposed neck, to bite and paralyze her. Her skin itched in anticipation of his attack.

He didn't. Instead, he made a small noise that encouraged her to continue.

"I don't want you," she repeated. "And when I ask….I had no friends. I had no freedom. I'm less then a pet, I'm a prisoner. I couldn't choose my own clothes or take time for myself. If I didn't want to eat much, you force fed me, and if I wanted food, it wasn't polite for a lady. You put me in danger, expecting me to appreciate your protection. You wouldn't leave me alone. You kissed me…and you touched me…no matter how much I didn't want you to…no matter how much I pleaded with you to stop. You want me to have your children, and meanwhile you can promise that you won't hurt me. I'm seventeen years old. I've barely been kissed. I've been wanting to grow up since…since I was here last, but not like this. Your affections scare me. How can that ever be compromised without the inevitable…? I miss school. I miss talking to people. I miss people my own age. I want to get a job, write books, act….I miss not being the stupidest person in the room, all the time. I miss having my questions answered. I miss not having a home," she paused, dropping her voice to a whisper and shaking her head violently. "I want to laugh again…You may be better than your brother, but that doesn't make you good. Can't you understand how much you frighten me? How much you have hurt me?"

"I am sorry Sarah." Even he didn't know if what he said was true anymore, but the words felt right on his tongue. He saw the tremor in her shoulders, the tremor of broken wings. She looked so small and lost. He hated the loss of her fire, and lowered his head to his hand. "For that, I am sorry."


	38. By Candlelight

Persephone 38

By Candlelight

They sat in dusky silence for a long time before she finally turned to face him.

Unshed tears and dust coated the corners of her eyes. Her lids stuck lightly when she blinked. Sarah took in his orange silhouette and pursed her lips, grateful at least for the light. "I thought you'd gone."

"Not without saying goodbye."

"Of course not," she whispered, pushing a dank strand of dark hair out of her face. "You'd never be so impolite."

"Besides, my time is yours," he muttered, uncrossing, stretching, and recrossing his legs, "I have no where else to be. My castle is cold and lonely."

"'That's why you acquired a companion?'" she quoted.

Jareth shrugged; his shoulder plates creaked. "Perhaps I will accept small chat if you refuse to bargain with me?"

"Small chat?" Sarah repeated. "Now? In this oubliette? With you?"

"Why not?" he spread his hands wide. Their shadows crisscrossed over the cavern wall like the bars of a cage. A crystal shuddered to life in his palm, gently cast aglow. "We neither of us have anything better to do, and maybe a little witty repartee will convince you to leave this terrible place."

She sniffed, half irritated by him and half by the dust tickling her nose. "I don't think I have anything you want that I'm willing to give, so I'd rather steer clear of the so-called bargaining," she paused, "I thought I made that clear."

"We could have a stab at genuine conversation Sarah," he queried dryly, deliberately leaving out an affectionate sobriquet. The orb spun through his fingers and across his knuckles.

She stayed silent, squinting at him across the cavern.

"Your filly is growing well," the king started docilely, attempting to placate her. He hated the nervous look hovering in the whites of her eyes. "She is the perfect picture of her mother, but she already has her father's habit of jumping paddock gates."

"What does she do once she's out?" Sarah asked, closing her eyes to imagine young Aspera soaring over the barrier. In her mind, the filly hopped and fluttered on strong, but occasionally still shaky, legs. The little horse already showed a distinct aptitude for mischief.

Pressing his thin lips together, Jareth smiled. "She prefers to eat the grass outside the fence and torment the other horses with her freedom…like you."

Sarah swallowed. "And Nightengale?"

"The mare…" he caught the unconscious narrowing of his love's eyes and cleared his throat, forcing humor into his tone. "Nightengale is a natural mother, as you know. She misses your attention, but not your diligent work on her right-lead canter."

"Even the best horses have a lazy streak," Sarah admitted. Thinking about her horse made her thighs ache. She missed her daily rides regardless of her company, but preferred freedom from her company's pressured kisses to riding. Nevertheless, her eyes watered at the corners. "Don't think I don't know you're trying to convince me to come back."

He raised one elegant eyebrow, eternally royal even in the filth. "Then you pick a subject."

"It's pointless anyway."

"And what if I simply missed our tête-à-têtes my dear?"

Rolling her eyes, Sarah searched her memory for loose ends and potential leads. "Well…how was your dinner party?"

The king dipped his head, pausing just a moment to long before answering. "You were missed," he said, peering out from under his tussled bangs. The crystal cast a golden glow on his face. She imaged that expression melting his mother's heart as a child, the one that softened his face, even in the hole's harsh shadows, though Sarah couldn't tell if he knew how effective it was. In return, his uneven eyes studied her face. "I missed you."

She swallowed, then nodded without apologizing. "What about the alliances? Are they coming along?"

"I admit that I have been more focused on finding you than cementing small allegiances." Jareth decided to level with her, hoping perhaps to ease her constant complaints. The crystal vanished. "I have a better idea who to talk to now. The younger nobles I told you about, Conrad de Silvane and the others, they are both angry and imprudent."

Her brows knitted together. "That doesn't seem like a good combination…"

He chuckled, delighted by her concern and her expression. "No…but for the moment, their malleable, youthful enthusiasm is my best asset."

"What about your mother?"

Jareth nodded. "A very brittle political talent… who cannot move openly against her son."

"I see," Sarah replied, intrigued by the back-stage games despite herself. She would have loved to play secretary or spy to the whole affair, but the active role he had once begun to ask of her felt far too dangerous for such a novice. "But she's helping you?"

The king studied her face, searching for her motivation. "She keeps Adele's confidence and extracts information from everyone she meets. No one would dare deceive the dowager queen."

"Not even you?" she scoffed, then coughed when she inhaled dust. "Or your brother?"

He conjured another flask, full of the clearest spring water, dispersing the molecules in the kitchen before reconfiguring them in the orange-cast oubliette, and handed it to the sputtering girl. "Of course we do. We know how much power our mother commands, in influence, if not formal law." He noticed that she flinched less when he handed her the drink, but still pulled back to his corner.

Sarah uncapped the flask and sipped slowly. Water had never tasted so good. "So you have a plan?" she managed between swallows.

Jareth grinned, subconsciously revealing his pointed canines. "Yes darling girl. But until you're home safe, tucked away in my castle, I am loathe to share it with you."

"You never would anyway." Her eyes clouded. Detecting the dangerous glint in his voice and eyes, she gulped down the last of the water. "And I'm not going back. I told you that."

"Surely I cannot grant your request for my confidence while you are running around posing a risk to security, even if I wish to turn over a new leaf?" He plucked one of the low-burning candles from the wall, casually extinguishing it with his fingers. The shadows in the hole grew taller and more menacing.

To Sarah, he seemed nervous, though she never set much stock by her ability to read his clandestine shreds of emotion. "Do the Labyrinth's nearest geographical neighbors share your sentiments?" she asked cautiously.

His feral grin stretched. "No."

"Well, don't worry. I won't rat you out." She tilted her head to the side. "And I don't know anything anyway."

"Torturers do not tend to extend sympathy for ignorance or naiveté Sarah."

Suddenly, her mouth went dry again. "You said you can't just pull me out of the Labyrinth."

Jareth saw the gears working in her mind, and realized how quickly her gentle questions had led him astray. He told himself he'd never been truthful with her because of the way she captivated him. She was so utterly disarming—sweet and genuine even when conniving or fearful. Those eyes sucked at his soul. He kept the answer simple, a curt: "No."

"Is there a way out of this oubliette?" she queried.

"And why should I tell you?"

"Because you want to win my trust?"

"Indeed. There is always a way, though I seriously doubt you will find it."

"I will."

They stared hard at each other. Neither blinked.

"Do you remember when you promised me you would not run away?" he asked, spinning a new crystal lackadaisically across his fingers.

Sarah looked at her reflection in the swirling glass. "I remember." That day still stung in her memory.

"You cannot escape my Labyrinth. The gates will not release you," fierce fire burned brighter in his uneven eyes, "because I will not release you."

Slowly, her expression shifted to mirror his. The look in his eyes told her gut that he spoke the truth even though she didn't want to believe him. Sarah remembered her bonded promise and the magic that fluttered around her fingers to seal it. She nodded, but didn't say anything.

"I do not intend to stand in your way," Jareth conceded, "because I also know what will inevitably come to pass."

"I'll be fine."

"Really?" His eyes narrowed to serpentine slits even though he spoke lazily. "You have goaded me for exaggerating the dangers of the Labyrinth time and time again, yet I have rescued you twice. You would have been finished twice in less than one month, and you, my dear, have been painfully lucky."

"I still don't believe you. And I'd rather take some bumps and bruises," Sarah hesitated, searching for words, "than what you do to me."

"I cannot keep this up Sarah. I cannot keep following you to protect and provide."

"Fine. Don't." She so wanted to retort and tell him to send her home. But she knew how fruitless that temper tantrum would be. He would never let her go. The fiery exuberance slipped from her visage.

He saw the sorrow in her eyes and imagined how he'd feel if he lost her. The hollow in his chest ached as he watched her head drop. He longed to tip her chin up to his face, but didn't budge, didn't dare to touch her. "Eventually, even if you escape this place," he murmured, "you will grow tired of running."

"No…" Sarah bit her lip, refusing to show him any more weakness. He'd already seen her at her weakest and her worst. After two hard swallows, she found her voice. "Not when you're the alternative."

"I understand," he grated, "but…"

"No," she interrupted. "You don't."

To spite her expectations, Jareth didn't argue. He cleared his throat slowly, letting the sound echo in the silence. Her faint sigh barely reflected from the rock.

He snuffed out another candle before it could burn and die.

Sarah licked her lips. "It's getting dark again."

"Girl, it's an oubliette, what do you expect?"

"I'm trying not to expect anything anymore," she challenged.

Jareth smelled her fear, rising lightly with her cool sweat. "They will all burn out when I go," he murmured. Behind him, another candle whisked out of existence.

Sarah pulled her arms around herself. The cold began to descend on her. Goosepimples raced down her limbs. "Please don't…please leave the light."

"All things come to an end Sarah-mine," he said sadly. "And I will return."

"I hate this place," she shuddered.

"You have another choice," he stated calmly, hiding his own anxiety behind centuries of villainous diplomacy. Jareth stood and cast the slow spell.

"So do you." The scoff faded to a stammer as her courage waned. "No…I'm going to find a way out of here."

He didn't deny her long-shot ability, but doubted her chances of success. No one had ever escaped one of his oubliettes, but then, precious few had solved his Labyrinth. "Are you afraid of the dark?" he asked, determined to sound concerned rather than menacing.

"Yes…yes, I never was before but…" His image was fading. She could only see the highlights of his hair and high, stark, cheekbones.

"Sarah, you must return with me or…"

"Or?" she interrupted.

"Or you must face that fear."

With a twinge of regret around his mouth, he formed a crystal and vanished. The glitter falling from his transformation coated the flickering candles. One sputtered out in a flash of silver. The others smoldered low on their wicks. Her breathing accelerated against her will as the light faded. Shadows danced across the craggy walls. They looked like angular monsters descending on her. The little light quivered, and shivered, and flickered out. Blackness forced its way in.

Sarah pressed her back into the wall and couldn't stop the terrified shrieks from escaping her mouth. Suspended in the ether of transition, he couldn't stop listening.

x x x x

The perpetual darkness seemed to permeate her eyelids, further blurring the distinction between waking hours and nightmares. In the oubliette, she couldn't tell the difference. The nights, for they must have been nights, he came to her and tormented both.

He came from behind, his hands snaking around her waist. They snaked up her front, unhinging her buttons with long-fingered tenderness. Her skin flushed in trepidation and anticipation as he pulled the shirt open, down over her white shoulders, creamy and lush in the inky gloom. His fingertips skimmed over her small breasts. Her nipples grew pert in the chill. She shivered as he pulled her body back against his, trailing his hands down beneath her shirt. She felt her ribs separating beneath the leather and claw-like nails. The sigh that tumbled from her mouth was not her own. He teased her, suckling the lobe of her ear. Her heart thudded, pumping panicked blood to every newly enflamed nerve.

She shrieked as his lips descended on her neck, calling his name in her terror. At the sound, he groaned in sardonic pleasure. His teeth drew crimson lines on her flushed skin. She gasped, hissing in shock and heady surprise. The wet of his mouth followed, soothing the harsh abrasions on her skin, delicate despite the dirt. The gesture broadcast his protection, his affection, but the fluttering below her chest wasn't her heart. She moaned anyway, disgusted with herself and the sound.

His thumbs stroked lower, hard over the points of her hip bones. They greedily pierced the fleshy indentation before returning to the skeletal arch. Fingerprints lingered in the sweat on her skin as he reached around to the softness of her behind. He forced her legs wide. The invading air felt forbidden and painful, but merely anticipatory. She winced as he jerked her nearer, ever nearer, though there was no space between them. However violently she pinched her eyes shut, the slick tears escaped. She had never fully imagined… And he was turning her around to face him, his fingers sinking lower, ready to take her and break her.

_Sarah…_her name, dimly in the thick smog in her mind.

_Sarah,_ he drawled, lazy in his advantage.

_Sarah! _his voice, fierce and sharp in her mind.

She pushed him away, but a hand gripped her shoulder, hard.

Her eyes snapped open, immediately catching her reflection in another pair of uneven ones. His hand slid down her arm. For a moment, Sarah couldn't feel him clutching her bicep, because the penetrating touch of her dream refused to fade.

"It was a dream," he pleaded, still feeling the echo of the screams that had called him to the oubliette. The piercing wails still pounded in his ears. Still, the dream weaver hadn't needed to hear her scream or see her writhe to know what she saw. "Just a dream," he said again. "I would never. Not to you. Never. Just a dream." Breaking his private oath not to touch her, he wiped her tears from her eyes, personal promises to coquettish trees be damned.

"But you…you…" she choked. Her tongue felt thick and heavy in her own mouth.

"Never," he affirmed. Without thinking, he crushed her to him. Wet, matted eyelashes flickered against his cheek. Hearing her startled, strangled squeak, he released her again, cursing himself and gesturing a little too wildly at the meal he'd brought, another peace offering, now twinkling in fresh candlelight.

Her eyes widened. "I'm awake…" she breathed. "Oh god."

Sarah looked down at herself, separating reality and her subconscious in her mind. Though torn and filthy, her clothes and her body remained as she'd left them. No one had harmed her. He hadn't touched her, save for his desperate hold on her arm, shaking her from that horrible sleep. She squelched the sobbing and took deep breaths, filling her lungs with dust and the salty moisture of half-shed tears. The process took far longer than she intended.

Finally, Sarah raised her eyes to the man in his corner of the oubliette. She knew he hadn't touched her, not at all, not since the vampiric kiss that had driven her to run. But that memory was enough. And though he seemed almost changed, her gut could never trust him. The king leaned against the wall, strangely human in the glittering orange light. His hair fell into his eyes, boyish, impish, guilty, and savage, all at once. Sarah tried to swallow, but couldn't push past the stiff lump in her throat. Try as she might, she could not.


	39. Slivering

AN: Brief, conventionally "gross" moment in this chapter. If you're squeamish, don't read over lunch or anything. As always, my thanks to all who read and/or review. I appreciate everyone's insights. Also, although _One Feather_ obviously stalled, it's soon to stop being a one-shot.

Persephone 39

Slivering

Try as he might, he could not get her completely calm; he knew his presence wasn't entirely helpful. Still, a refreshing meal and a warm wet cloth for her face worked barely significant miracles. The king knew he had to let her go. He nevertheless refused to give in so much as to release her himself. He would not go back on his word and just let her escape to keep running, could not endorse her desire to simply run from him forever. But his convictions lacked the heat of true righteousness. Instead, he left her with a large supply of tapered candles and went to find the dwarf she refused to stop loving. She would guess what he had done.

Hoggle came not long after the king left; Sarah didn't trust herself to judge time anymore. After she jumped in bewilderment at another figure in her prison, she ran to her friend and showered him in thankful hugs. Considering the relative brevity of his absence, he tolerated her embrace for a surprisingly long time.

"Now I's can't stay with ya," he said finally, "but I came ta get ya out."

"Thank you Hoggle," she replied, quivering like the temperamental candle flames. The light shimmered over the ruby in her parasitic ring. "I know I keep saying it, but I swear I've never been gladder to see you."

Her friend held up one finger. "I's only come because…"

"You don't need to explain…"

"Because he sent me," Hoggle concluded, staring at his feet. "Not that I's didn't want ta as soon as I's heard."

Sarah nodded. "I know. But please…forgive me if I save the reunion for after we get out?" She looked around the dank oubliette and shivered. "I can't stay here another minute."

There wasn't any sort of depression or sign to mark the escape from the hole. That fact made Sarah feel marginally better; she probably never would have found the catch on her own. Hoggle produced a perfectly average looking wood block—he told her any fist-sized, knob-like object would do, if one happened to have something handy on their person—pressed it into the precise niche in the wall, and turned the new handle. The door appeared as if it had never been missing.

When she got outside, Sarah drank in the late summer sunlight without pause. The afternoon air tasted like honey. She suddenly remembered the feel of laughing. Ignoring the filth on her face and the stabbing pains her cramped muscles, she twirled and danced like she once had as a tiny child, as she often had before heartbreak interrupted her world. She hollered with joy for the first time she could remember. The thought of 'since' didn't even stop her jubilation. Her tangled tresses streamed out behind her as she spun, tilting her face to the heavens. Despite the dust and dirt, the chocolate strands caught the light, bouncing dapples around the flagstone. Even the Labyrinth's strange red sun made Sarah feel light and young again. She whirled around until she fell down dizzy, laughing and grateful.

Next she looked around for Hoggle, anxious for a proper reunion. But the king had rushed him away as soon as they reached the outside. Her friend was nowhere to be seen. Sarah blew him gracious kisses on the wind. Knowing the king had sent him, she knew she didn't need to worry about his majesty's sudden retraction and took a deep, cleansing breath. Then she gathered herself together, surveying her surroundings and contemplating her new information in order to come up with a plan.

Now she knew that she couldn't escape, but likewise, that the king couldn't remove her. So the new game required her to stay safe and significantly nourished in the Labyrinth. Then she could live on her own—not glamorously, but free from the castle's pressures and its master's unwanted attention. Unable to leave the Labyrinth, she examined her memory of the topography. The outskirts no longer appealed, since the only point in going to them was going through them. Certainly not the bog or any of the forests, though she could theoretically take up residence in Hermes' house if she could find it again. Somehow, her gut told her that the house didn't appreciate permanent guests, so she decided to steer clear.

On one hand, Sarah considered continuing to explore, since she didn't know the full extent of the Labyrinth's resources. A perfectly safe, habitable place with ample food sources could exist. But she didn't know the full extent, or location, of its dangers either. Besides, the odds were not in her favor. And she didn't know exactly where she was.

Sarah gazed at the chameleon sky. The position of the sun told her nothing. She sighed, looking as far into the distance as she could, and quickly met with impenetrable stone walls outside the small garden where she had emerged. Remembering old safety, she walked inside. Lost in thought, she began to stroll around the perimeter, not making much of the crimson-cast to the tree branches as she started up the knoll.

She'd been happiest, felt safest really, in the orchard. The apples provided a fairly reliable, if rather boring, food source. The fountain guaranteed water and a minutia of cleanliness. She'd only left in fear that the king would snatch her once he knew where she hid. He'd promised not to, as close to honorably as his capacity allowed. Although he might harass her, she would at least have a relatively safe place to stay. At least the gate could be closed at night, and he couldn't completely abandon the kingdom to torment her. The orchard seemed most logical. Her junk-yard souvenirs might even still be there, and those basics would make life much easier. She'd return to her original wild-thing plan and base herself in the orchard. Settled.

Casually, she leaned against a tree to catch her breath. Her hand came away sticky and wet. Sarah blinked, re-focusing her eyes to take in the distance as she pulled her hand away. The red stains on her palm didn't surprise her as much as the creatures below or the work they were doing.

The hue of the trees did not come from an early seasonal shift. All the leaves were still green. The trees were bleeding.

Below her, hunched goblins were harvesting their crop, but instead of pulling up carrots, they were pulling up hands. Young hands: infants', and children's. They left dotted red trails in the earth, snaking from severed wrists. Feeling ill, Sarah looked around at the rest of the yield. Near discarded hoes, feet nestled in the ground like potatoes. Human ears and noses grew nearby on willowy green stalks. Eyes hung in clusters from a large-leafed plant, diverse in their colors. They blinked to no particular time. Tiny teeth covered a curling vine.

The goblin workers yanked at them all indiscriminately, tossing their strange fruits indelicately into the packs on their backs. The canvas soaked black. They smiled, chitchatting as they worked and occasionally ripping into the human delicacies with their own teeth. Scarlet dribbled down many chins. Pale fingers twitched in their mouths.

Recalling the shaft of geriatric hands with sudden horror, Sarah backed up behind the tree. Making her foot-falls as stealthy as possible, she retreated quickly before she turned and sprinted out of the garden.

Orchard decided, she thought with a retch. Sarah pressed a confining hand to her mouth, lowered her chin, and set along the nearest path; looking at the clean dirt on the ground helped settle her stomach. The trees in the orchard were familiar. They resonated with her world and they cared for her. She had briefly considered the place her own private Eden. With safety and her stomach at stake, she decided to stick with a known quantity. Now she had to figure out just how to get back.

"As you wish to survive here, surely you must practice looking where you are going?" the king's instantly recognizable devilish drawl attacked her ear from mere feet up the path. He must have returned to the oubliette's exit to wait for her.

Sarah stopped short, jumping before she could stop herself. She'd nearly walked into him. Into trouble. Again. "Hello…" She raised and narrowed her eyes, willing him to back away. She refused to take a single step.

Jareth didn't retreat, but he didn't encroach on her pitiful territory either. "Sunlight suits my darling better I see," his voice dripped with sarcasm.

They were standing too close. He could easily reach out and touch her. "Please tell me you're not planning to twist your words or change the ground rules," she said, taking a wide stance.

Jareth stretched his lips into that same smile, tilting his head back and left to mirror her. "Then I take it you have a plan," he stated. He watched the goose bumps spread over her arms.

"No, not yet," she feigned.

With one large step, he closed the distance between them. The air sizzled. Sarah flinched, but raised her eyes to his despite the threatening tremors. His smile widened at her nerve, but his uneven eyes blazed. "Do not lie to me. Not ever," he grated.

"Then I have a plan, based on the rules you explained," she paused and stared at him, searching for anything remotely resembling sympathy or information in his visage, before demanding, "have you changed them?"

Her breath tickled his face. Though its scent wasn't at all appealing after so much running, her mouth still tantalized him. Jareth longed to touch her. Instead, he clasped his hands behind his back even as he leaned over her. "They have always been the same."

"Of course." She rolled her eyes and stepped sideways.

"Then you shall return to your orchard?" he queried, amused by her symbolic dance and pleased with her courage.

"You lie to me," Sarah charged instead.

The king shook his wild mane, rounding on her. "No darling girl, I simply omit all the information that you do not need."

"And you twist your words."

"Are you planning to return to the apple orchard?" Jareth restated. His eyes bored into hers.

Sarah's throat burned. "Yes," she whispered.

"Ah."

The single, arrogantly intolerant syllable fuelled the explosion budding in her chest. She feared for the trees, wondering if some horrible fate had befallen them, or worse, if he'd chosen to punish them. "Is something wrong?"

"Not what you're thinking." He appreciated how the orchard extended a maternal olive branch and wanted to do the same.

Her doubts lingered anyway. "Good. I liked living there."

"Then let me offer you a gift," Jareth proffered a hand to the suspicious girl. She didn't budge. "I will return you to the orchard. Safely."

"I can walk," Sarah shrugged.

"You have no idea which direction to set out in," he said pointedly, gesturing towards the hand garden.

Sarah bit her lip to contain her shudder. "How do you know that?" Belatedly, she hoped the words came out like a challenge instead of the way she'd initially meant them.

"I can sense the anxiety in your lovely eyes." They were more gray than green today, wide-pupiled and darting around wildly. "Even you seem to know that you have landed in a particularly nasty corridor of the Labyrinth." Perhaps she correctly reasoned that all oubliettes, should one ever find the exit, led to nasty places.

Sarah cocked her head to the side. "What do you care?"

"I do not want to see you damaged."

"Damaged?" she sniffed, "Like a vase or a picture frame?"

"No Sarah…" Jareth took a deep breath, exhaling in an exhausted sigh. Sometimes he wondered if she willfully misunderstood him and loathed himself each time he dismissed the possibility. He lowered his gaze. "I do not want any harm to come to you. I do not want to see you hurt."

"Please," she whispered, "if I get hurt, you'll wait until the most painful moment to again re-extend your ever-so chivalrous offer of cosseted queen-hood. I don't want to make that choice." The sarcasm bled from her soft, breathy tone. "No one would ever want to make that choice."

"What would you decide?" he muttered.

"Euthanasia?"

He sensed a piece of sincerity, but knew she was considering an alternative to which few in their prime would willingly commit. Nevertheless, the hint of conviction alarmed him. "You would not consent to let me try again, to save yourself? To consider me as an alternative to neglectful suicide?"

"I don't want to be a prisoner, or a pet."

"I am trying to make amends…"

"Not really," she hissed, "not very hard."

They stood silent again, refusing to look at each other. But dusk was fast catching up with them, catlike on their heels. Cackles, snarls, and howls sounded in the salty sunset air.

"Let me escort you," Jareth offered again, extending his hand. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end knowing what she might face; he couldn't fully conceive of her fear of the unknown. "I assure you, if you leave alone you will find yourself making that choice far too soon. I will not have it."

"I…"

He shook his head, irritated at the pair they made. "Do not argue Sarah. I told you I could not protect you anymore, and I will not. This is your last favor _beloved_, your final rescue. Let me give you a fair shot." Jareth caught a nearly imperceptible quaver in her lip; trepidation shone in her eyes.

"You'll take me to the orchard, the one I slept in before, safely, in the same condition I'm in, with no hindrance, consequences, or side-effects?" she demanded, hoping she'd covered all her bases.

In the distance something growled. She heard a shrill baying on the wind.

The king nodded. "You have my word."

Eternally tentative, her hand descended into his. Jareth relished the pressure of her fingers inside his glove. The worked leather beneath her palm sent pins and needles into his own. His skin had never felt more tender, never ached so much for another's touch. His thumb skimmed over the ruby ring, wiping the grime away. A small huff of air escaped her at the stone's sudden shine. Pressing his lips into a firm line, he closed his fingers around hers, enthralled by the sensation, and gently drew her to him.

She held her lip clenched tightly between her teeth, he noticed, fully draining the color. As subtly as he could, Jareth slipped his arm around the curve of her waist. She flinched and resisted his hold, pulling her torso and hips as far away as possible, curling her spine into a U-shape against him.

"This may be slightly disorienting," he said gently, "but I assure you, your safety is worth the headache."

Before she could protest or fully level her glare at him, he brushed a reverent kiss against her knuckle just above the ring, and swirled them both into a deluge of glitter.


	40. Fort Survialist

Persephone 40

Author's Note: My apologies for the long absence. The last month has been very rough. The leg problems have been diagnosed as an off shoot of a nasty connective tissue disorder with only marginal hope for improvement, so I've had a lot on my mind and not had the heart to write. I think I'm back, but I'm going to focus briefly on _One Feather_.

Persephone 40

Fort Survivalist

Sarah knew she fainted, but didn't recall when. It might have been a self-preserving gesture, once she found herself forced to cling to the Goblin King in transition. The hardened leanness of him disturbed her more than her own weakness. He could break her, mind and body, with a thought if he desired. Knowing he hadn't yet given in to the whim did nothing to mollify her. Her head lolled against his shoulder.

When Sarah regained consciousness, the comforting smell of apple nectar and soothing sunlight floated over her senses. From the corner, the shadowy king nodded once before he disappeared. She tried not to wonder how long he'd stood watch over her. His promise not to interfere again resonated in his glittering eyes.

Sarah sat up, shaking off her shivers.

She glanced around the orchard, sighing in relief that the little garden looked much the same. The trees quivered in delight as they welcomed her back. They overflowed with happiness at her safe return, though Sarah detected a hint of irritation that she'd left her junk behind. She apologized as she went to inspect the remains of her original camp.

Although the wind had scattered them around the garden, most of her possessions remained as intact and as useful as they'd ever been. Once the pots and baskets were restacked and their contents secured, she assured the trees that she wouldn't leave such a mess again. When they acted doubtful, she promised she would truly try her best to keep her home clean. Sarah also asked them not to make her sleep for days as she had on her last visit, even if they felt she needed the rest. She had far too much work to do. Reluctantly, they agreed. Then she explained the situation.

With her new roommates' blessing, she took to setting up her new home. The oiled canvas made a good tent strung between two obliging trees. The saplings even shook loose leaves down to make a new bed underneath. After drying and airing them in the afternoon sun, Sarah piled her hodgepodge of blankets in the shelter at the foot of her make-shift mattress. She sorted the remaining water-proof matches, candles, and wax stubs into her baskets and pots at the head of her bed. She nibbled on a few nuts left over from the king's initially unwanted gifts, supposing they'd nourish her despite the source.

Exhausted beyond reason, Sarah slept through the night without dreams. The next morning dawned chillier than expected, and Sarah wriggled deep into her musty blankets and leaves. After the sun crept through the morning fog and warmed the ground, she set about thinking like a squirrel.

Sarah knew that summer was slowly coming to an end, struggling to recall all she'd ever learned about the Labyrinth's seasons. She'd arrived in spring, and had no idea when she'd been in the Labyrinth before. She didn't know how hard winter would be, or honestly, even if seasons here ran the same course. Resolving to prepare for the worst gave her hope. Then she thought of what she could do next spring. For now, she had somewhere to sleep. She had Lancelot to snuggle again, even if he was a little more careworn from living in a tree that summer—she hadn't dared take him with her when she fled the garden. Sarah was determined to succeed.

Knowing they'd eventually fade, she cut and dried apples using a dull knife and frying pan. The pan helped collect the heat, making the process less frustrating when she had a few days of good weather. She stored the dried fruit in baskets under her tent and strung some up in a tree just to be safe. Even though she was sick to death of apples in a matter of days, they could keep her alive during the winter. And a careful combing of the orchard revealed a few more of the king's provided stores, some of which remained useful: moldy bread, a sealed jar of red jam, very spuddy potatoes, and rotten cheese. She tucked what she could salvage away with the carrot seeds she'd found in the junkyard, planning for winter and another year with a hopeful smile. Sarah knew she had nothing to loose. She might get very sick. She'd certainly lose weight. But she'd keep begging for the king's mercy at bay. She'd survive. She hoped.

Using her crude tools, the fire pit took three solid days to build. Her nails bled from digging the pit, and her back ached from hunting for and dragging stones that had fallen from the wall to line it. The trees nagged her about safety, but encouraged her efforts once they realized she'd picked a corner relatively far from most of them, near enough to heat her tent, and close to the fountain. Full buckets of water stood guard at all times, just in case. Finally, she began collecting dry grass, kindling, and dead branches small enough to snap with her body-weight to add to her earlier stores. Although she would have once turned up her nose, the plain roasted potatoes with which she celebrated success made her mouth water and filled her with satisfaction, even if they were more than a little past their prime.

Digging herself a small latrine was more challenging and less rewarding. But Sarah knew she'd need it even if she didn't exactly know how to dig one. Nevertheless, the latrine came out well enough. It held in some of the smell.

She put on the clean drawers left by the king despite their foreign design. That let her wash the pair she'd worn for what seemed like months. They turned her wash-water brown. She was thrilled to scrub her face pink, even with cold water, everyday after her labor. She found two large cakes of soap in the bottom of a basket and used them extremely sparingly. Being clean gave her tingles of pleasure and made being a wild thing bearable when she dreamed of hot water.

Despite bathing, her long hair was impossibly tangled. After numerous attempts to pick the snarls out with her fingers and a fork, Sarah faced the inevitable. Stony-faced, she hacked her mane off near her chin. Her former pride fell to the ground in one dingy chunk. Half-smiling, she stuffed her hair under her leafy mattress. The padding wouldn't hurt.

Within one week of homemaking, Sarah became aware that she would benefit from another trip to the junkyard. She could carry more pots back certainly, and now that she knew she was staying, many bulkier items could come in handy if she could transport them. After all her adventures, she felt more confident navigating the Labyrinth, judging time, and avoiding trouble. She also knew she had to avoid trouble. She planned to take precious matches and candles; in exchange for safe travels, she'd sacrifice some of those supplies.

Holding her breath tight, Sarah made two consecutive, safe trips to the junkyard. On the first, she rediscovered the trunk from her first trip and filled it with candle stubs, cord, and two half-spools of thread. One had a needle stuck through, as if it had always been waiting for her. The trunk would further protected her most precious possessions and provide her with a normal height seat under her tent. Sarah topped the trunk with a dingy pillow and two more tattered blankets. She gutted some dog-chewed stuffed animals and added their fluff to the pillow. Although she already had cleaner, better smelling blankets with fewer holes, she hoped to wash these rags and knew she could find a use for them. She worried about drafts in her tent; she worried about snow. She hauled the heavy trunk to camp on her back and went to bed early. On the second trip she sought more dishes and cups. They fit in a wicker laundry basket. She found another yard or so of stained fabric and three glass bottles with caps. Scraps of yarn and string might make wicks for new candles—she had no idea how to make them, but resolved to try. A tin plate completed her day's collecting. Again, she scurried back before dark, proud of her achievement, and happy to think of the orchard as her home.

Exhausted from two days of intense adventuring and beginning to feel the strain of her meager diet, Sarah began sewing herself new clothes and patching her existing breeches and shirt. She stitched a mid-calf length skirt from the yellow paisley, now reunited with the trunk where she'd found it. A length of cord functioned as a drawstring waist. Despite crooked, uneven stitches, in an ugly brown, she took great pride in her work. She pieced a frumpy blouse together. Appearances didn't matter, so long as she was clothed, since they didn't approve of naked girls. Sarah didn't approve either. With the long Under-ground style drawers on, she felt perfectly comfortable moving in her new outfit. Next she made a rough night gown with the blue-ish fabric she found. Even scrubbed clean, several stains still showed. The armpits would have been far too big and revealed too much of her sides, had any one been nearby. Sarah didn't care. She hung a line between two low branches for drying clothes and designated the wicker basket as their place in her trunk.

While she sewed and improved her camp, Sarah chatted with the trees. She tried to brainstorm some way to find more food. Her faintness was returning. One desperate day, she tried leaves and grass, which only made her feel sick. Perhaps working was harder than running. Weight melted off her bones still more quickly. The air already felt cooler. She needed most of her blankets at night and fall hadn't yet arrived. She'd eaten some decent meals on the run, granted mostly when the king interfered. The trees weren't terribly much help. They needed only water and sunlight and wished she could live on similarly free gifts.

Sarah dreamed about what she could do in the spring. She could venture to market in disguise and barter apples for seeds to plant. Her magical friends produced apples from the first sign of spring to the first sign of autumn, they explained. The trees would let her plant a garden and the matriarch even grudgingly consented to let Sarah close the iron gate to pen chickens, sheep, or pigs. They only objected to goats, because goats would devour their bark if they didn't escape first. A garden could provide vegetables; the soil was plenty fertile, should she buy the seed. The orchard adored her; the trees would help. Still, even if plausible, such long term solutions wouldn't help her now. Even given his promise, she didn't dare stray near the market. Sarah also knew she didn't have enough apples to trade or feed animals through the winter. She had no idea what they would be worth, but she knew she needed every one. Once she'd gathered enough, then she could dream.

Now she just felt desperate. She'd never understood hunting or had any desire to kill an animal herself. Certainly, she ate meat, had cooked it herself, but purchasing flesh from the grocer's allowed her to maintain a certain distance. She didn't know what animals in the Labyrinth could be eaten, if any. Most of them seemed intelligent, if not nearly human. For all she knew, some of the Labyrinth's denizens might once have been human. She prayed for a chicken to cross her path, but they never seemed to wander so far from the city. Everything else remained foreign. But Sarah knew neither how to kill nor prepare a chicken anyway. She had no weapons or real tools.

She sobbed when she pulled eyeball stalks from the wall in desperation, hacking at them with her dull-edged knife. The eyes teared-up too when she sliced into them, but they quickly stopped moving at all. At least Sarah knew that they were edible from her experiences in the goblin market. They were a common food source. Weeping all the while, she cooked them in her frying pan and forced the hot, gooey eyes down her throat, chewing as little as possible. She hated watching the eyes turn brown on the pan more than swallowing them. It made her feel the depth of her actions. The eyes stuck in her throat and the stems, barely palatable to begin with, didn't even taste as good as she remembered. But she needed the protein and her small store of nuts was nearly gone. She felt better in the morning once she washed the salt stains away from her own eyes.

Day by day, autumnal chill crept over the Labyrinth. Some nights six weeks in, Sarah woke up shivering at night. After that, she further insulated the inside of her tent with layers of blanket scraps and dry leaves, sealing as many drafts as she could. Then she could kick off a few of her covers. If the temperature dropped too much, she'd be in real trouble. She made additional trips to the junk yard to scrounge any piece of fabric. The better remnants went into her new, patch-worked, warmer winter clothes. Everything else went into her tent-hut.

The leaves in her orchard turned golden. The matriarch warned Sarah that they were producing the last of the apples of that season. She cut and dried fruit like never before, saving seeds and eating cores, watching as the Labyrinth's usual orange cast faded into a cool, violet shadow. The whole place felt staler, deader than usual.

After the last leaves fell, she scraped them over her little home, now a huge mound nearly as high as the saplings that supported the original structure. Leaves, fabric, dirt, and canvas hid a little abode barely larger than a double bed, in which she could scarcely sit up. Sarah didn't care. She hoped the hard work on camp would give her enough edge to survive.

Her bare-branched friends applauded her efforts with suddenly gnarled limbs. They clacked above her like brittle bones, snapping one by one in the wind.


	41. Winterlude

Persephone 41

Persephone 41

Winterlude

Jareth lazed on his throne; his relaxed stance hid the hard intent in his eyes. Crystals spun on his fingers, blazing white. Inside the globes, snowflakes danced across once-orange fields. The king stared into his crystals, focusing all his power. He drove the snows harder and faster. The Labyrinth turned white sooner than it had in centuries. His goblins shivered in the cold. Jareth didn't care.

"I thought you said you would not interfere any more. You promised." Alexander paced before his king, frustrated at having returned to find his friend's personal situation worse than ever before. Although genuinely detained playing nursemaid at Navarre, he hadn't minded staying away, hoping Jareth would come to his senses. For some time, relations between the king and his resentful beloved seemed to be improving. He'd noticed some of her unhappiness, and at least tried, ineffectively, to make her happier. Of course, Jareth had finally forced himself on the girl, destroying all chances for détente with one punishing kiss.

One crystal spun away, skittering across the floor and smashing, as Jareth accelerated the winter. "She will not survive," he grated. "The cold is fierce. She lacks the supplies and the instincts."

Fear for the girl flooded into the older man. "Does she even have a chance…without help?"

The king's lazy posture did not change. Flurries of crystal swirled lackadaisically through his fingers. "Who would help her?"

"Answer the question."

Jareth pressed his mouth into a thin line. "No."

Alexander stopped pacing. "Then you are interfering? Against your word?"

"Not directly." The king raised his uneven eyes to his friend, narrowing his gaze. The crystals hung in midair. "Are you challenging me Xander?"

Alexander held the king's stare as his core flooded with worry. "No." The last trace of joviality left his voice. "But I confess I am worried."

Jareth nodded without blinking. "I know what I'm doing."

x x x x

The first frost astonished and pleased her, largely because it did not penetrate her shelter. Sarah felt a little blush of pride in her little nest. She celebrated by staying in that day, saving her energy by not working. Satisfactorily snug inside, she absently flipped through the pages of the yellow book she'd rescued from the junkyard. In olden days, the dry philosophy would have bored her to tears. With nothing else to choose from, and little time for leisure, she devoured the dusty prose, epistemological though it was. Eventually, though the idea pained her, she expected to burn the books.

Snow and ice soon followed. Sarah wrapped her feet in rags to keep them warm. She heated large rocks and moved them into her hut, wishing she'd trusted herself to design a domicile with a contained fireplace. She stayed inside and snug as much as she could, biding her time between chores. Completing any task besides sleeping felt like a major accomplishment. Though she made at least one achievement a day, Sarah intended to hibernate like a bear.

She couldn't think of any other major improvements to make to her camp until spring came anyway, so she settled for minor ones. After a great deal of experimenting, Sarah dipped candles which smoked more than the real thing, but still burned longer and more safely than string alone. The rough-hewn candles let her see inside her hut after dusk, though she quickly adopted the sun's schedule. In her last trip to the junkyard, she added three large but dull kitchen knives to her equipment, always keeping one her bed, one by the orchard gate, and one securely on her person at all times. Unable to make new clothes, she patched her garments and slightly improved their fit. She tried to stay busy, if for no reason other than to make the time pass.

Starved for amusement as well as protein, she wrote between the lines of the philosophy books with sticks sharpened and burned in the fire. Though her letters were tiny and crude, releasing a trickle of her emotional torrent brought immense satisfaction. And writing didn't take much of her precious physical energy. She composed terrible poems about her equal hatred of the king and hunger on the blank pages between the cover and table of contents. She detailed her misadventures in the margins. She wrote about the differences between feeling trapped and feeling pursued vertically up and down the page so she could make it out along with the horizontal text. She wasn't proud of her writing, but finally expressing some of the pent up feelings made her feel better. The painstaking process of constantly burning sticks to write a word at a time made her feel accomplished even though it halted the flow of angry words that wanted to spew out. She wrote about what she imagined Toby doing. She penned a letter to her family, apologizing to Karen, telling her brother everything she'd learned about life thus far, begging her father to remember how much she loved him, but smudged the words out, knowing it would never be sent.

She recorded her favorite recipes too, but that was mostly in jest. She chewed and spat bits of tender green wood when the trees offered it. Everyday, she broke the ice skimming the fountain's surface. She boiled the water to make a warm mush of apples and precious nuts until they were gone. Often, she drank warm water and pretended it was tea. Occasionally she steeped bits of dead grass, which tasted terrible, but hopefully provided some vitamin or mineral or another. At least the terrible taste provided variety while the heat temporarily soothed her stomach.

Knowing she was starving only made the hunger pains worse, but Sarah didn't consume any more of her stores than she needed to function each day. She wished she thought to dig up beetles and bugs or had the callousness to steal eggs. She could have tried to hunt or submitted to eating more of the awful eyes. Maybe she should have braved the mushrooms. She hadn't. Sarah still didn't know how long the winter would last. The trees didn't understand time in a way they could convey to her. Her gut also predicted that labyrinthine winters varied in length from year to year, just to spite expectations.

Soon, Sarah learned that she wasn't the only one raging at the snow or going hungry. The trees caught whispers from passing birds who said the winter was hitting harder than they ever remembered. Predators and prey hungered alike. She wondered if her captor inflicted the harsh weather on purpose. Although cruel to punish every citizen, creature, and plant for her escape, it seemed like an idea he would like. His capacity for cruelty no longer surprised her. Sometimes, Sarah heard baying and snarling at night, sounds she had fled from before, but never heard so close to her orchard. The Labyrinth's dangerous predators stalked ever closer. Sarah tried to sharpen her knives, kept the gate closed at all times, and begged never to meet them.

Against her will, deep in her dreams, Sarah found herself praying that he would interfere and bring her supplies. Though she wanted none of the king's attentions, she'd accept his pity if it meant bread and meat from his kitchens. In both dreams and nightmares, she sold her body for its nourishment. Every passing bird might be his owl self, a thought which filled her with simultaneous hope and derision. But as much as she loathed him, the king remained a man of his word and Sarah couldn't think of any way to twist his promise of non-interference to her favor without admitting defeat and returning to him. She did not dare try.

Everything but the snow was shrinking. Unforgiving whiteness covered the ground, building and expanding. Yet her food disappeared far too fast. Despite her careful rationing, she finished the nuts before the second week of real winter. The fire consumed her wood stores when she let it burn and left her shivering when she didn't. The leaves that made up her bed crunched and crumbled into dust so her mattress became harder and smaller. The garments of her small wardrobe ripped often and required patching; her initially unimpressive blankets became thinner and rattier. Although her house held out the worst of the cold and damp, it alternately dripped and froze, even when she swept the heavy snow away. The entire structure compacted under the weight of the snow so she began to feel trapped where she once felt cozy and safe.

And she had never before been so skinny. Her forearm nearly fit in the circle made by her thumb and pointer finger. Sarah could count every one of her ribs. Her stomach ached constantly. Her wrists had never been so bony. Indeed, every bone felt brittle beneath her dull skin. The hated ruby ring should have fallen off her diminished finger, but instead its magic shrunk the band. Her whole body hurt. By the end of the day she found herself shaking with hunger, using all her will power not to eat every last morsel she'd saved, and drank endless cups of warm water instead. Each day became shorter too, due both to the early setting sun and her constant exhaustion. Sarah berated herself for accomplishing less and less each day, but she knew she needed to save her energy.

Every evening, she watched the cool red sunset before retiring for the night. Sarah reserved that time for day-dreaming, though even her future visions diminished as the nights grew frigid. _Until the end of the winter_ became her mantra. She just needed to hold out until the end of the winter, then she'd spend the whole summer gardening, preserving, building, and preparing. But Sarah soon found focusing on future positives more challenging than ever before. Her hopes for overall life as a wild thing crumbled, but she still preferred crude freedom to his captivity. Still, a small part of her being began to long for death in the night.

Part way into winter's second month, the Labyrinth's predators started waking her at night. They screamed with hunger, and somehow they'd caught the scent of a frightened girl on the wind. Though she was far from plump, Sarah's stalkers seemed to think she still carried enough meat on her bones to hunt. Her own hunger pangs made her sympathize with them, but she dreaded confrontation.

At first, they merely howled through the night. Sarah memorized the different bays and snarls without ever leaving her hovel, glad of the gate. Soon she heard them sparing with the wrought iron. It clanged as large bodies impacted the metal. During the day, Sarah reinforced her defenses as best she could, tying twine through the central bars to support the latch. She wished the gate locked. She also propped one of her knives on the barrier's exterior, hoping to wound or kill one of her adversaries. The kill would be one of self-defense and she relished the thought of meat. Although she moved the weapon nightly, her adversaries avoided by chance or skill.

She feared both the winter and the desperate hunters it brought. Though tired of constant fear; of the predators, of Labyrinthine dangers, of the king, of losing, of starvation, of the harsh chill, of living with him or dying alone; Sarah found she couldn't feel much else.

x x x x

Finally, when Sarah thought she would surely die, she heard the patter of dripping icicles. The tree branches thawed, casting off cascades of crystal shells. The shards covered the snow. The naked trees chattered with excitement. Huddled deep in her hovel, Sarah nearly wept for joy; her eyes would not spare the moisture Each morning warm winds blew in from the east. The melt formed an icy crust, but slowly, the snow began to recede.

Remembering January thaws when teachers scolded children to keep wearing their jackets on the playground, Sarah tried not to celebrate too soon. The vicious weather could return, even worse. At least she could enjoy the reprieve and enjoy feeling warm enough for a little while.

The weather made working much easier. She scrapped the melted wax from used candles and fashioned new ones. She saved firewood and began to hope she would have enough fuel if winter resumed. One particularly fine day when the temperature soared, she washed her clothes and blankets, hanging them in the crisp air to dry. Clean bedding felt like heaven. She scrubbed her face and heated water to wash her hair, shivering nevertheless with cold and delight.

The snows kept melting. Even the ache in her bones subsided. She watched droplets slide down the icicles, forming ice stalagmites on the snow when they froze again at night. She fought to control the fitful joy the dripping brought. No thaw could last so long, Sarah begged. Soon, she heard twitters of springtime bird song. They didn't dare sing more than a few confused notes together, but those notes gave her hope. The animals seemed to be rejoicing. The trees danced. Although new growth remained a long way off, the promise of warm weather, sunshine, and fresh food sources lightened everyone's hearts. For a few nights, the predators stopped trying to breach her garden gate. She wished them good kills, far away from her home, and breathed a little easier.

Once again, Sarah daydreamed about all the improvements she could make, given long months of warm weather. She didn't eat any more food than she'd rationed, knowing she still needed to save, but the signs of spring energized her. Even on the seemingly impossible chance that the cold returned, the reprieve gave her hope. Checking her supplies and preparing new projects, Sarah felt free.

x x x x

"Do you understand?" Jareth asked, pushing crystals full of warm wind into his kingdom. The winter had certainly been harder than ever before, but infinitely faster. He hoped his citizens had not suffered too severely for their ill preparation.

Alexander nodded, watching spring blow in early. He frowned. "I understand, but I still cannot condone your actions. Again you have reordered time and turned the world upside down…"

He waved a hand nonchalantly, trying to pretend he did not care. "Only a little. Spring will come long and slow, to make amends."

"Nevertheless…"

He should have known better than to try and trick his old friend. Sadly, his burgeoning headache did not lie either. "Yes, yes," Jareth sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "But this time, I hope I can say I did it more for her than myself."

Alexander raised an eyebrow, studying the other's face. He caught a trace of guilt in the mask where he had not thought his old friend capable of surprising him anymore. "Did you?"

The king stood, letting the crystals and the spell tumble to the floor to take their own course; his expression turned to stone, denying even Alexander access. On the floor, nature and magic wove themselves together as the crystals broke and vanished. "I do not know. Now go."

Turning on his heal, Alexander did not argue. Still, the older man could not conceal the hint of a smile.


	42. Reclaim

Persephone 42

Persephone 42

Reclaim

The dusk the snarls at her gate returned, Sarah immediately knew she was finished. Since the unseen attackers had left her in peace over a week ago, she hadn't refortified the gate, as she'd been too busy fixing her rapidly collapsing house. Once the ice crust melted, everything soaked through, straining under water weight. The gate strained too. With only its own weight and twine to keep it closed, the predators breeched the portal in minutes. After all her work to cement the lessons of the Labyrinth, she'd taken their absence foregranted and instantly knew she'd regret that error forever.

With the screech of bending metal spurring every footstep, Sarah touched the knife at her side and pulled herself up into the matriarchal tree, branches dipping in assistance. Secure up high, she prayed the strange creatures might eat her meager food and go.

Silent and deadly, the long-dreaded creatures slunk into view. She'd avoided them for so long, yet now they entered her very home. Sarah bit her lip to keep from screaming.

Male and female, human heads rode on the lean bodies of lions. Mantacore and sphinx. Blood encrusted their lips. The pride of nine fanned out, stalking through the orchard. Their eyes glowed orange. Despite the dim light, she could count their ribs. She knew the harsh winter hurt all the Labyrinth's denizens. Slowly, through their growls and roars, Sarah realized that they were talking. They strategized about her capture. She felt an entirely new shiver course down her spine.

"As my eye sees, our quarry has taken to the trees," hissed the largest female.

"Trace her scent. Find out where she went," commanded the male beside her. They rubbed their human heads together like large cats. Sarah guessed the pair led the pride.

Sarah clutched her knife and tried to track their movements. The other seven beasts slunk out in eerie formation, disappearing silently into the shadows. The snow cushioned their already stealthy steps, her eyes could not penetrate the growing dark, and she lacked their keen sense of smell. Even from her high vantage point, she soon lost track of her stalkers. She stared at the lead pair.

Suddenly, her protective tree shook as if it had been hit by a battering ram. The rest of the orchard chorused concern for their matriarch. Another impact rattled Sarah's teeth. She clung to her branch. Below her, wood crackled as twigs and bark pelted the ground. The saplings wailed.

She looked down. The pride circled the base of her tree, striking with the full weight of their bodies and scratching with their claws.

Sarah felt the old tree wince as they shredded her bark. _Hold on girl-child, hold on tight, _she instructed. The great tree quivered as their assailants beat and tore.

Between snarls and frightened tree chatter, Sarah strained to hear their whispered orders below and squinted to see their faces in the dark. She needed to stay at least one step ahead of them. For once, fighting primarily by herself gave her a small advantage.

"Soon, we'll have our query by the throat," purred one almond-eyed female.

"And our leery hunger forgotten and remote," added another sphinx.

"For she smells of meat just worthy enough to eat," returned the first speaker.

The lead pair joined the group. "Enough, to work," ordered the male. "Climb after that little morsel sublime."

Sarah felt the color drain from her face. She could never fight them suspended in the tree branches. And the matriarch, who'd been so kind to her, would suffer severely. The tree shuddered beneath her as claws dug into her trunk. She looked to the iron gate, smashed open, and down at the monsters again. The mantacores climbed slowly but effectively, pausing only to flay extra marks into the bark. She had little time.

"Can you pass me over?" she whispered. "If I can make a run for it, at least they won't hurt you."

Understanding, the matriarch stretched her branches to reach her next sister tree. Before leaving, Sarah cut her forearm with the dull knife and smeared her blood on the tree, hoping the scent would delay discovery of her escape plan. The blood glittered crimson against the pale bark just as the ruby ring did against her skin. She winced and weakened, determinedly not looking at the shallow cut. The pride roared in triumph at the salty smell.

As carefully and quickly as she could, Sarah swung into the next tree, and the next, careful not to slip on the last patches of ice. She ignored the cold cramping in her hands as best she could. They stayed slick and red. The trees were her crutches, keeping her upright and aloft. The orchard screamed and took swipes at the intruders to cover her trail. Branches swayed and cracked. They hit the ground with heavy thuds. Sarah kept an eye on the hunters below, but focused on getting to the gate. She saved her gratitude for a less dangerous time, hoping against hope that she'd get back to thank them if not to make amends for their sacrifice.

Finally, she made it over the top of the wall. But whether the sound of her feet hitting the ground or discovery of an empty tree alerted them, the pride charged after her. The orchard swiped at the beasts, beating them with their branches to slow them down. They hurled pieces of Sarah's camp at them. The sickening crunch of breaking wood fueled Sarah's footsteps as she ran out into the night.

x x x x

Once again she ran for her life, propelled by adrenaline that made her forget who she was and why she ran. But this time, her body could not maintain the strength she needed. Despite the early spring, the harsh winter left Sarah a mere ghost of herself. She had no reserves for fight or for flight. And her cut wouldn't stop bleeding. Her muscles burned and quickly stopped responding to her brain's commands, twitching against her will. She lost control of her feet, stumbling head long down unknown corridors. She could not breathe, but she fought her body in the effort to outrun the danger at her heels, preferring uncertain death to a certain end.

A strangling weed caught her ankle, snaking up her weakened leg and pulling her down. Her fall broke the cold night shell on the icy slush, instantly soaking her aching body to the skin. The chill melted straight into her bones.

Hacking at the vine with her dull knife, Sarah heard the growls and knew the pack had arrived just in time to take her at her most vulnerable. She pushed herself up, but to no avail. Struggling only made the plant's hold tighter. The vine constricted around her thigh. She felt the bone crack and couldn't bite back a sharp yelp.

This time, the pride didn't bother to muffle the sound of their approaching steps. They alternately laughed and roared. The metallic scent of her blood teased. The hunt thrilled them.

Silent tears poured down Sarah's face, freezing against her cheeks. She bit her lip hard to keep from calling on him. Her foot felt strange, tingly and disconnected. She could not bare his domineering pride. She felt sure he would come, if only to watch her die. And he would watch her die. She would not let him imprison her again. She wouldn't. Her teeth pressed harder into her flesh to check the words.

The leaders of the pride reached her feet. The mantacore batted at her injured leg, chuckling at her wrenched gasp. The other beasts circled closer. The sphinx made ready to pounce, wriggling in anticipation. Sarah couldn't catch her witty, rhymed death cry.

She tasted the salty tang of blood in her mouth. Tempting salvation beckoned…but for the cost. She would not call out.

With a final triumphant growl, the sphinx pounced. She landed hard on Sarah's legs. She could barely identify the crunching noises with her own body.

She screamed and covered her face, pressing her palms hard against her eyes, and in that moment, everything stopped.

The ruby ring pulsed and throbbed on her finger, writhing like a loose heart. A single ray of crimson light hit the sphinx in the eye and pushed her back. The others disappeared.

Panting with pain and combative adrenaline, Sarah thought she heard the wind whistle through his hair before consciousness faded away.

x x x x

She woke slowly and hazily, truly warm for the first time since she'd left Hermes' house. Sarah rubbed sleep from her eyes, then stifled a yawn, the pull of which reminded her of her multiple fractures. Though the pain was immense, she expected worse. The warm tingling dulled prickles of agony. She winced, sat up, and waited for the dizziness to fade before taking in her surroundings.

The bed chamber was cavernous and black as midnight with no moon, bereft of all color and warmth. The monotone noir limited her depth perception so severely that she had to study long and hard to make out the rest of the room. Given its vast size, the chamber seemed largely empty. She lay in an enormous ebony bed hung with black silk. An armoire stood against the shining stone walls next to a wash basin.

Sarah shuddered. She knew of only one such grand bedroom she'd never seen in the castle. And only one could be so macabre. _His_.

So he'd taken her. Her breath left instantly. She panted to regain it. Her leg throbbed. How had he stolen her from death? How had he cheated her out of the only solace remaining to her. She couldn't remember crying so hard.

Across the chamber, a door opened and her nemesis strode to her bedside. His face looked fiercer than she remembered, tight and drawn. He held his hands closed behind his back.

Expecting him to hit her, she recoiled across the bed. The movement wrenched her leg. Sarah yelped in pain and terror.

He stopped.

"How?" she rasped, forcing her jaw to work, unable to form a more complete question.

The king deigned a feral smile, but he did not approach her again. "My ring."

Sarah rearranged herself into a sitting position against the headboard. "I didn't want to come back here."

He stepped closer and sat on the edge of the bed. "You would prefer a long and agonizing death?"

"Yes." She wanted to stay committed to her convictions, but even Sarah couldn't quell the quaver in her voice. "As if what you have in mind is any different."

Jareth studied her face. His eyes lowered. "I would not have you make that decision. Especially not under such circumstances."

"So, of course, you made it for me?" she sneered, loosing composure fast. She felt eternally stuck between a rock and a hard place. Her leg and her heart ached and pounded in tandem.

"Sarah please, please calm down. It's for the best," he pleaded as best he was able.

She shook her head, swallowing hard against her filling throat.

"You decided. You used your ring."

"I didn't!" Sarah pried at the ruby band, still tight on her emaciated finger. The ring wouldn't budge or turn.

"You wanted to be saved. You turned the ring on your assailant," he explained slowly, shifting his weight into the mattress. "You gave your consent."

"Consent?"

"Tacit consent," he amended.

"Tacit?"

"Alexander set your leg and treated your scratches," Jareth replied instead. "You must be well."

"Well?" Sarah swallowed. "Then what?" For the first time, she met his uneven eyes. She found neither answers nor warmth in them. The look frightened her. Tearing her eyes away, her gaze swept around the chamber. "This…this is your room, isn't it?"

He nodded, agonizingly serene. "Yes. You'll stay with me now."

"What else?" she squeaked.

"Nothing. I simply no longer trust you to your own devices." Leaning over her, Jareth took hold of her shoulders and laid her down, brushing a stray hair off her face.

"Please, please, oh please don't…" she whispered, too tired and sore to flinch away from his touch.

"Sweet Sarah," he smoothed over her name as he pulled the blankets up around her neck and tucked her back into bed. He peered into her eyes from inches away. "You must heal. At present, that is all of which I can think."

She quivered as his breath slithered over her forehead and struggled to regain her position. "No, no, no…"

"Enough girl!" In an instant, his patience broke. Sarah saw his features contort and genuine color rise in his cheeks. Jareth pushed her back down into his bed, before spinning away to pace before the bed.

Her hip popped. She grimaced.

His boot steps echoed on inky marble floor. "You must be well so I can send you back!" he roared.

"Home?" she whispered.

"Yes."

For a long moment, she simply stared at him in silence. Finally she managed a strangled, "You mean it?"

"Not forever." He turned his back on her, hands clasped behind his back. "To visit. To show you good faith."

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't wet her mouth. "Will I get to go back again?"

"I grant one gift and you ask for another."

"I didn't mean any ingratitude."

"Go to sleep Sarah. You must rest." He headed for the door.

"Wait, please…."

Jareth turned. "Yes?"

"Can I have your word on that?" despite her exhaustion, she had to make him promise. She felt consciousness slipping away, eaten away by the pain. "Please, give me your word I'll get to see my family. Promise me."

"You have my word…"

She fell back against the pillows, eyes closed and filled with gritty tears.

"…_beloved_." He closed the door before whispering the final epithet. Having her back should not hurt so much. Jareth thought he'd forced himself to eradicate all such emotion long ago—long before watching her stirred the emptiness in his chest.

Jareth leaned against the door as he had so many times when she'd first arrived. When he'd first taken her. He stared out at her former chamber, so intimately connected with his own. With her removed from the comparatively small chamber, it could only await its original intended: his heir.


	43. Pillow Talk

Authors Note: Apologies for the long delay—special thanks to those who encouraged me during it. Real life has been rather difficult; I know I seem to have these spells a lot. I hope you enjoy the chapter.

Persephone 43

Pillow Talk

Though they were bittersweet tears, Sarah fell hard back into sleep and landed on the spine-tipped pillows of her nightmares. She did not fully awaken for days, but caught glimpses of darkness when she fought against the healing spells that kept her in that frantic torpor.

She saw Alexander's face, frowning and haggard over her bedside, but always smiling when her eyes fluttered open to meet his. She had missed his smile.

She saw the king, and fell back into screaming delusions.

She thought, once, that the visages of Gilda, Didymus and Hoggle flashed before her blank eyes, but she felt sure he wouldn't let them come to her. They must come from that land of dreams, a faint, fading light against the ever penetrating darkness.

Finally finding consciousness the second time wasn't nearly as bad as the first: she knew better than to try and move much; she knew she'd open her eyes to his room. Sarah kept her eyes closed as consciousness returned, trying to savor the mild peace of sleep a little longer. She turned her senses inward to her assess her body and felt surprisingly little pain, but a permeating dull ache. Feeling his satiny sheets against her skin, luxurious though nerve-wracking, she also became acutely aware of how much she wanted a bath. She wrinkled her nose.

Another scent lilted into her nostrils. A masculine scent. Her throat tightened; she opened her eyes.

The king sprawled across from her in the immense bed, platinum hair floating across his face. He breathed deep and evenly. She realized he was sleeping before she jerked herself into motion and hurt herself, or worse, woke him.

He wasn't touching her, or even close—for him. But they lay in the same bed.

Squinting, Sarah studied his slightly softened face. He appeared strangely peaceful, taciturn, with only a hint of the dark aura of power beneath his skin. He'd looked careworn when she saw him in the oubliette, haggard and drawn. Now the circles under his eyes were darker; she could see every line on his face. His cheeks looked sunken, his bones more prominent. His whole visage looked aged instead of alabaster. But he deserved all he could suffer for hunting her. Keeping his promise to send her back wouldn't make up for half of what he'd done.

But she mustn't get distracted by promises he probably wouldn't keep. Sarah had to let herself hope, but she knew better than to expect him to change. She took as much of her weight as she could on her arms, grimaced, and shifted her body two inches towards the opposite end of the bed. Sarah felt the mattress lift and depress as she moved, then a larger movement. She craned her neck, to suddenly look into his face.

His cheeks brightened as he awoke. "Good morning," he said, wrapping a black dressing robe around his frame. She hadn't noticed what he was wearing before and yanked the covers up to her chin in a fit of embarrassment.

"Good morning," Sarah mouthed, too stunned to speak.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose, said, "Excuse me," and left the chamber.

A few minutes later, Sophia and a little goblin—Gilda, Sarah almost couldn't believe her eyes—hurried into the chamber.

"Ah my dear, how we've missed you!" Sophia greeted her little lost charge. The older woman kissed her gently on the cheek. "His Majesty especially," she twittered.

"Hello," Sarah stammered. "Hello, Gilda."

The little goblin woman smiled, but said nothing as Sophia bustled about the chamber. She held things for the maidservant like a lower-level assistant. "How are you feeling dearie?" She hurried on without letting Sarah answer. "We'll get you cleaned up and fed, and the doctor in to see you—you'll be feeling much better."

"That sounds great," Sarah replied, confused by Gilda's silence and Sophia's manner. The lady's maid acted as if she'd been away on a pleasure cruise, not running for her life. Could she possibly still expect Sarah to indulge her master?

Sophia pulled huge black velvet drapes open to reveal the hazy orange morning sky. Deep red clouds stretched ribbon-like across the window. "Let a little light in here," Sophia said with a grimace. "I cannot see why he keeps it so dim. Now my dear…"

Sarah blinked as her eyes adjusted, then cast furtive glances around the chamber.

Sophia didn't allow her much time to study. Suddenly Gilda had a breakfast tray for her and the older woman helped Sarah sit up in bed. In a whirlwind of activity that felt strange after so much time spent waiting out the winter, Sophia fed, bathed, and dressed her. In all their ministrations, they never left the kings cavernous black suite.

Sarah didn't realize how tired those simple processes made her until she once again laid in the king's bed. Sophia's constant nattering, nothing about anything of importance, made her head buzz. The old woman went on and on about her ragged, short hair, chiding Sarah as if she was a little girl who'd cut her own hair during a temper tantrum. Or as if she'd follow an obtuse fashion trend. Sarah would have liked to know about the king, his present ire, and how she might best handle him, but Sophia neither mentioned him nor allowed her to get a word in edgewise. She'd never found conversation so difficult. After months of solitude, her tongue seemed to have forgotten how to form the words of polite small talk, must less to bend the topic to her will. Gilda said nothing, merely taking Sophia's directions like a mindless thing.

She lay back on the pillows with a half-scared, half-satisfied sigh. "I do feel better," Sarah said, a little startled to realize she meant it, "thank you."

Sophia patted her now well-combed, evened, shoulder-length hair. "You're very welcome dearie. We'll see you later. Now get some rest." She started for the door. Gilda looked back, but followed her mistress.

"I'd really," Sarah lurched off the bed, wincing when she moved too fast, "I'd really like to talk to Gilda for a little while."

Sophia smiled and held out her hands in an exaggerated shrug. "Well, I'm under orders to ensure you rest and to keep you happy and free of every distress."

Sarah snorted, then stifled the sound. "Please."

"I suppose I shouldn't argue with you dearie. That might be distressing." Sophia winked and ushered Gilda back to Sarah's bedside. "Not too long now."

Sarah smiled when Sophia left, holding her hand out to Gilda. "I've missed you. It's been a very long time."

The little goblin woman slowly lifted her hand into Sarah's. "So have I, dear."

"How are you?"

"I'm…well I've been better. I'm employed now as your lady's maid's assistant." She seemed proud of the position, but Sarah caught a hollowness in her eyes. "His Majesty made the appointment himself," she shivered, "so I'd be able to see you in a socially-sanctioned way, now you're back."

"That's like him," she sniffed. Sarah looked down at their linked hands, at Gilda's squat gray-greenish fingers linked through her pale slender ones. She thought of Brent, her tender more-than-friend from a lifetime before. She'd missed him passionately when she first returned to the Labyrinth; she and Gilda used to talk about him as much as they dared, even though the king might hear. Now Brent seemed mostly forgotten. Madeline too. She knew his face, but how he changed he must be. Sarah knew she was so changed they could never share the same innocent joy with each other, should they happen to meet again. "You must miss Shel," she said, both to Gilda and her youthful, memory-self.

"I try not to think of him, not to miss him. I can't bring him back." Gilda replied simply, but Sarah caught that hollow flash.

Sarah studied her face. "Where do they, everyone, you…Where do you think I've been?"

"Away."

"Away where?"

Gilda lowered her chin. "He said you were away touring the realm. I didn't believe him…how could you end up so hurt?"

"I ran away." She squeezed Gilda's hand hard. "I've been running in the Labyrinth, for my freedom, my life. I almost made it…almost…" A few tears stole down her face before she could force them back or swallow them away.

"There, there…" Gilda tried, sniffling herself. She handed Sarah a snowy handkerchief, a white-lace flash in the ebony room. "I wish I could do something to comfort you."

"Tell me why he was sleeping here," Sarah demanded, scrubbing her eyes with her knuckles. "I'm done with crying; tell me why he was here," she shuddered, "in bed beside me."

"Oh dear, it's his room and he still wants you. His kind don't need much sleep—he does it to be near you."

"How long? How long has he…?"

"He's laid beside you since you…came back." She paused. "He hasn't?"

"No." Sarah pressed her eyes closed against sobs and shudders. "But God, he will."

X X X X

"Is she asleep?" Jareth asked, stifling the strange pull of a yawn stretching across his face without his permission. He leaned against the carved mahogany door to his bedchamber, so infrequently used until mere weeks ago.

"Yes, my little majesty. But does that really matter?"

"Sophia, first you urge me caution and now this?" Jareth chuckled, but the vibration inflated the constant headache writhing in his temples.

"You didn't deign to ask how she faired when you started sleeping in her bed!" his elderly nurse-maid scolded.

"Because it is my bed," he snapped, instantly regretting himself. He must not press his stress and strain on old Sophia. Not on anyone. Not anymore.

She paid him no heed, and delivered a sharp poke to his chest. "You put her in it. Now she's sleeping. And you'd best join her or rest elsewhere. You look awful," Sophia sighed, throwing up her hands. "The two of you. And your quarrels! You work me hard enough to need sleep myself."

He hung his head and pressed his back harder into the door. A carved dragon pressed into his shoulder blade. Having seen the gesture before, the old nurse would understand his subtle apology. "Thank you Sophia. Please go."

She stood on her tiptoes, reaching up to place her hand against his cheek. When their eyes met, all traces of her annoyance disappeared. "Be good to both of you," she said, holding the contact a moment before departing.

Jareth moved into his room, discarding his clothes in favor of a black dressing gown. If he didn't worry about Sarah waking, he would have gone naked. Pulling off his gloves, he flexed his fingers, felt the powerful surge of power in his fingers. Looking to the bed, he almost donned the protective gloves again. Keeping his magic under tight control seemed most necessary around her.

He kept a reverent eye on his sleeping princess as he undressed, though he kept his distance, resisting her allure as long as possible. Once, he'd thought her so right, stretched across his bed. Now, she looked weak and pale, curled into herself as tightly as she could without straining her injuries. She had more than wounds to heal. He could only see glimmers of her confident fire. Jareth cursed himself.

He silently to the opposite side of the bed, far from her; far enough to keep her unconscious fears away. He didn't even allow himself the luxury of going to stand by her side and study her sweet face, because he had no stomach for the damage he'd done. Still, he could not keep ravaging thoughts at bay.

Once, in the dangerous depths of nine-ringed Navarre, he slept beside her to protect her from his brother. He wished he'd protected her from himself—hadn't misread their small understanding and tenuous trust. Pressing his lips to hers, he'd tasted her lips so many times; those kisses seemed so long ago, but they'd never kissed. The first kiss at Navarre held promise despite her fears, even lacking all her passion. No, he would regard the next kiss they shared as the first, and hoped that the years, millennia even, between the forced ones he regretted and their next kiss, would make her forget and think of it as the first too.

At least she slept. He sat on the edge of the immense bed and yawned.

Sarah sprang up, clutching the sheet to her bosom. Her mouth fell open to scream.

He let her scream. The cries tore at his heart, but he would not reach out to her or raise his voice. He determined to hold his patience as long as he could, and backed away three paces.

"Please Sarah, stop," he said once he could be heard. "Stop."

"What are you doing here?" She clambered awkwardly to the corner farthest from him, stretching her healing legs. "Get out."

"This is my room Sarah, surely you know," Jareth explained slowly, remembering when he would have restrained her body to calm her hysterics. He longed to cross the room and comfort her, but accepted the futility of such a gesture. "I brought you here so I could watch over you personally," he continued, immediately thinking he'd perhaps not expressed himself in the best of words.

Sarah rubbed sleep from her eyes. "Please go," she whispered.

"I need rest, and would prefer to rest here, in my chamber. I will not touch you—I did not before. We have shared this bed two weeks," he chose his gentlest voice, hoping to caress her with sound since he would not with his hands. He hoped she could forget. "I will not touch you again unless you wish it. I promise."

She ran her hands over the goose bumps on her arms. "Your promises mean nothing to me."

Again, Jareth fought the urge to go to her. "I want you to be comfortable." With his gesture, a cheery fire crackled in the corner grate. "But I worry your fears will lead to regrettable actions."

"So you're watching over me."

"Yes. Now go to back sleep." He put a finger on his left temple. Her yelling reinvigorated the pounding in his brain; his exhaustion threatened his temper. Maybe they would never understand each other. "You need to rest to heal."

"Not while you're here."

"I'll go." An embarrassing yawn overpowered him. He loathed the need for sleep.

"You'll come back."

"It is my room too."

Rolling her eyes, she pursed her lips tight. Her arms crossed over her chest.

He saw the fear, and the old spark of defiance. Jareth raised an eyebrow, drawing on his old charms. "When men are as tired as I, they care not for what you fear. You must rest."

"So you can send me home," Sarah quoted with a deliberate sneer. "I can't believe a thing you say. I wonder why I ever did."

"This is different." He wanted to tell her he'd changed. That she'd changed him.

Drawing her arms up underneath her, Sarah propped herself on her elbows, glaring flint at him. "What do I have to do—to give you—to earn the privilege of going home?" she demanded.

Jareth shook his head, stunned by her insolence. "Nothing, girl."

She laughed, entranced with the hollow echo in the stone room. "I don't believe you. Every little insignificant thing you do for me comes with a price. I should have known better than to think, even for a moment, that you'd let me go for nothing."

He sighed and turned his back on her. "What is it that you think I desire?"

"My body." Sarah swallowed hard, shifting her sore body against the pillows. She pulled her limbs to herself, forming as tight a ball as she could. "The heir you're always asking for."

"I could not take that from you now even if you offered."

"Yeah, right."

"I would not," he hissed, turning back to the bed.

Sarah wished she had tears left. They would not sway him, but they might comfort her in her misery. "You never tell me when I'll go, or for how long, or if…if they'll even know who I am. Just tell me what you want in this horrible trade, and I'd probably just give it to you. Finally, you've got me right where you wanted. Desperate, past longing for death, and trapped in your bed."

"That was never what I wanted. I…miscalculated."

"Miscalculated?" The word came out as a dry sob.

She wanted to tell him again, to never stop telling him, how he'd hurt her, but the king continued before she could start on his crimes. "All I want now is a shred of trust, a sliver of forgiveness. You told me the only thing I could do was send you home," he said.

"And if I trust you a little, then you'll be ready to start all over again."

"Yes."

"Bastard."

"But not the same way. I am ready to take your advice."

"Then give up and let me go," she begged, clasping her hands like a penitent child and not caring how foolish she looked. "Just set me free. That's the only thing you can do."

Jareth turned his back again. "I can't."


	44. Leaps and Bounds

Authors note:

For sometime this chapter was nearly complete except for that enigmatic little note: _"Explain time."_ Apologies for the very long wait. Although there were far fewer personal crises and life is in fact looking up in many brilliant ways, I've been struggling with writing. Both finding time and that horrid block. But the goal is now to find the time and make it happen. I really like the unattainable goal of finishing this before 2010, but I'm not holding myself to it. Its probably a bad time that every other time I upload a chapter, I have to figure out the new format of the website.

Thanks to all who read, especially those who critique, stick with, or rediscover.

Persephone 44

Leaps and Bounds

In the end, Jareth ceded his room to his convalescent lover. He stayed busy out of his own lair until Alexander reported that she was capable of walking shakily around his chamber. Alexander soon proposed Sarah leave the dark bedroom in favor of light and fresh air. And the next afternoon, sweet with the smells of newly arrived spring, Jareth found he couldn't stay away any longer.

He waited outside the chamber while Alexander and Sophia transferred the girl into a wicker wheelchair, enjoying Sarah's sparse but relatively happy chatter as she explained how much she longed to leave the sick room—his room. Of course, she didn't know he that could hear her. She said she heard stray traces of birdsong and wanted to see the feathered singers. She wanted to smell the new-bloomed flowers and dance with her filly. As he wheeled her to the door, Alexander told some inane joke and set her laughing.

The cheery laughter died as soon as she left the room and saw him. Her eyes narrowed and her lips pressed tight together. Face set, she stared straight ahead, ignoring Sophia and Alexander's farewells and, Jareth imagined, willing him out of existence. Of course she felt betrayed.

Silently, Jareth took Alexander's place and pushed the chair down the corridor. He planned to take her to the stables to see her mare and sprightly filly. Jareth hoped the visit would make her smile. They continued down the deserted hall in perfect quiet. He hoped she would say something.

They reached a door and a set of steps down. Her knuckles blanched from clutching the arm of the chair. As he carefully maneuvered them down the stairs, slowly, one set of wheels at a time, as not to jostle her, Jareth heard Sarah clear her throat as if biting back a comment or a distrustful sigh.

"I will not let you fall," he murmured, pausing on the steps.

"Why aren't you carrying me?" she accused. "You never missed an opportunity to restrain me before."

Well, certainly not afraid. "I am trying to modify my behavior," he said simply, taking her down the last two steps extra slowly.

Though Jareth thought she might protest or choose to fight, silence reigned. He hoped Sarah would show some recognition when he headed towards the stables, if not excitement. They reached the bottom of the steps. Of course, she refused to say anything to him.

"Since you are progressing well, I plan to send you aboveground within two weeks of our time," he started, lengthening his stride on the flat ground and rolling the chair at a brisk pace.

Nothing.

"You'll be strong enough then to see your family and friends."

No response.

Their speed sent a gentle breeze tickling across his cheeks; Jareth thought he might as well continue and simply hope she enjoyed the air. He could give her the information she had asked for even if she didn't respond. He knew Sarah would listen. Besides, he might have a better chance of communicating if she didn't start a fight.

"Although you see spring blooming here," he continued, "time moves quite differently between our worlds. At present, your classmates are preparing for exams before the winter holidays."

She turned her head slightly left; he glimpsed a half-moon sliver of her face. Just below her ear, Jareth thought he saw her lips form a silent word: "Christmas."

"I plan to return you for the duration of the holidays, about a month in your world. You will find us in early summer when you come home," he smiled wryly at the back of her head. She did not protest his usage of the word, which he considered a small, if now somewhat hollow, victory. "The flow of time between our worlds fluctuates, but luckily I possess a great deal of control and have stretched your visit as long as possible. Does this plan please you?"

A barely perceptible nod heartened him.

"I am spinning magic now to make your family believe you have been studying abroad. That is not altogether untrue."

"Studying what?" She returned to looking straight ahead. "Abuse?"

Jareth ignored her comment. "In your world, it has not been so long since you left," he continued. He wouldn't let her start a fight. "Your family will believe you spent the summer and fall at an elite boarding school, where you will complete your last year of high school."

She sighed.

"Yes?" he queried, slowing the pace. Jareth leaned forward, hoping he'd speak.

Sarah took a firmer grip on the arm of the chair. "They'll know me."

"It is what you wanted."

Suddenly breaking her torpor, Sarah grabbed one of the wheels beneath her and wrenched it hard.

Jareth jerked them to a halt, hoping she hadn't hurt her hand. She needed no more wounds. "You could have asked me to stop."

She turned her head sharply to glare at him. Her short hair framed her face in soft spikes. "And then? Will I ever see them again after this? Tell me now."

Jareth shrugged, feigning disinterest. He didn't like to let her go, but he would not lose her. "I fail to see why you couldn't attend university abroad and continue to visit."

"Except they'll find me a blithering idiot." She turned and slumped back into the seat. "And what's the point when the lie must come to an end?"

He reined in his temper and forced the macabre energy into walking. After a few minutes of silence, they approached the stables. "I could teach you," he offered, "Latin, Literature, Calculus, Physics—anything you wanted to learn in your world and more."

She snorted, but said nothing else.

*

Though Sarah played with spry Aspera, and leaned against steady, gentle Nightengale to curry her velvet coat, she couldn't fully devote herself to the visit when visions of her family kept shuddering in and out of her thoughts. She ignored the king, who kept his distance, excusing himself to visit his stallion.

Sarah braided Nightengale's thick mane and thought of the separate strands of her life. Would it really be better to see them just a little? To keep up the king's charade? She had to tell herself that seeing Toby would heal some of the ache in her heart. Seeing the brother she sacrificed herself for might at least justify some of her pain. Mollify her. But seeing him, and leaving him, might hurt her more. Especially now, her situation was desperate instead of his, but Toby had nothing to trade, nor the maturity to think of such an option.

Then, there was the chance that she could escape him above ground. Escape, and finding a way to her own world, had been her ultimate goal while running in the labyrinth. It seemed unobtainable then, but if he took her between worlds, she might be able to find some way to stay there. Of course, Sarah had no idea how. Of course, he would surely find some equally chance way to drag her back. Of course, she had never truly been able to try, even then. And of course, if she asked her parents for help, they would surely think her mad. But she could escape from a hospital. That would really be a piece of cake.

She didn't want her parents to see her now. Her shame went beyond her lack of education. She felt battered, physically and mentally, her life in tatters. If Sophia and Gilda quipped about her wilted appearance, her parents would surely notice the lack of light in her eyes. Of course she could never waver from the king's elaborately established lie, could never think of telling the truth, but the irony of it would haunt her every interaction with her family. Karen, particularly, had wanted her to grow up, to leave her childish fantasies behind, and she had, relegating them to a place of wishes and dreams. But to find her wishes so perversely fulfilled, and to her own ruin, made her wish she'd truly heeded Karen. Her soul would have emerged less wounded than it was now. Plain, and boring, shallow perhaps, mundane, but whole. To think that her parents had been right about the destructive power of her fairytale, all without even believing in it, hurt too much. She felt as if the worst aspects of being wrong combined to attack her.

Sarah sighed, and stayed silent a long while, numbing her brain as best she could.

"Meditative?" he asked at last.

"I'm really trying not to think about any of it," she replied, surprised by her own honesty.

"Especially not my role in it?" he asked in an unexpectedly gentle tone.

"Arrogant, but true," she muttered. Sarah held up her left hand and turned to him. The ruby ring glittered despite the grime from grooming the horses on her hands. "I'm not wearing this home."

"And why not?"

"Because it looks like an expensive engagement ring and I'm not engaged." Sarah swallowed. "I'm not."

Jareth studied the ruby ring that marked her as his. He could neither bear to see her naked, unclaimed finger, nor to commit such another obvious act of ignoring her feelings. "My ring did save your life," he said, not yet reminding her of her betrothal yet.

"That's debatable." Sarah shrugged, then ran a hand through her intriguing hair. The feathery points fell against her forehead, obscuring her eyes. "Take it off," she demanded, and held her hand out to him.

"Though you have failed to prove your point to me…" he began, weaving a half-truth. He didn't inherently like the storm gathering in her face, but the swirling signs of rage suggested emotion. He treasured her passion and had to convince himself of its survival. Perhaps he could convince her too.

"It doesn't fit with the story," she cut in, pressing her hand towards him. "And it doesn't matter, because I'll never trust you without this trip, and you'll never have the chance you so desperately want otherwise."

Jareth took advantage and clasped her hand.

She pulled it away. She must have sensed his unrestrained impulse. "You said so yourself. And I won't go with this ring on my finger. I'm not going to lie about that too."

He could, of course, simply deposit her above ground whether she wanted to go or not. He had the power, not she. Especially over worlds. Nevertheless… "I will remove the ring just before you depart."

"Now."

"No, Sarah."

Their eyes locked. Aspera approached her mother and whickered with concern, but neither Jareth nor Sarah looked away.

"You have asked too much of me and taken what I could never have given," she said slowly, holding his gaze with all her strength. "Now I'm asking this of you."

"Sarah…" he drawled, trying to distract her while his own mind reeled at her audacity and thrilled that she hadn't lost it all.

"I will not bargain with you." Sarah turned her attention back to her mare and the filly, stroking their noses. "I refuse. I'm only going to ask."

Jareth watched her with the horses, comforting them in their distress about the argument. Sarah's inner light barely glimmered, yet she found the strength to make demands of him and offer nothing. Then again, it was not so different from what he had done to her. They, neither of them, knew anything of his inner light. And they would both know, he would make sure of it, of their intimate connection. "Give me your hand," he said at last.

The ring slipped off her finger into his so easily Sarah almost forgot it had been stuck on her at all. The ruby glittered against the black of the king's glove. She felt a great deal of weight leave her shoulders and drew in a long, slow breath. Sarah raised her face to look at him, and tried not to grin, tried to force the corners of her mouth to turn down, but a hesitant smile sneaked through. "Thank you," she mouthed, unable to voice the words when her dignity told her not to express any sort of gratitude for small amends.

She couldn't read the expression on his face. "You are welcome."

Sarah turned back to the horses to let her smile blossom out of his sight. She buried her face in Nightengale's mane, wrapped her arms around the mare's neck, and released a silent peal of laughter.

"But remember you are betrothed to me, Sarah," his solemn tone sliced through her happiness. She felt his invisible hand reaching for her shoulder, ready to yank her back around to face him, but the blow did not fall. "Here in this world. Betrothed until we wed, or millennia pass and so do we."

Sarah froze, turning stiffly when he did not touch her. Her heart resumed its fluttering in her throat. "Undue it."

"Even I cannot do that," the king shook his head, "not when it has been declared before the court."

"Tactful of you." She searched his face for some twinge of embarrassment or guilt, any sort of emotion. "Do people wed even if they hate each other here?"

"Do not forget that I know what you read in my library. And you have seen my brother's court."

Her eyes narrowed. "Adele."

"No, actually."

Although she didn't believe him, since Adele certainly seemed more suited to Alexander than her dangerous husband, another question begged forth. One she'd long longed to ask, but never dared. "How old are you?"

The corner of his mouth lifted in that sardonic grin, and he was all sardonic mask again. "Dear girl, you would prefer not to know."

And she was beginning to see through his persona. "Am I then, immortal?"

"Nearly as so as I."

"And what does that mean?"

"I thought you knew."

"I asked once. And I read a lot. Nothing and no one gave me a definitive answer."

He might have blushed, she guessed, had events not served his favor. "Once again, your situation is altogether unique."

"Are you telling me you don't have an answer?" she challenged, cocking her head to the side.

"Not as precise a one as I would like to give you."

"Then tell me what you do know."

"Time moves differently here. You will be older already…"

"Older?"

"Let me finish. You will be older aboveground than you are here. I believe that while your mind will age, your body will not decay past its prime." He ran his hand through his hair and shaking the spikes into a new arrangement. "I do not really know, as few humans remain in my world, and still fewer challengers."

"Victors."

"If you wish." The king deigned a mocking bow, but gave grudging acceptance of her term.

She paused. "So that's what you mean by millennia."

"Yes," he caught her gaze with a softened stare, "we do have an eternity."

"Only forever," she replied with a sigh. "Not long at all."

* * * *

The morning before her planned visit home, Sarah heard the sharp rap on her door, smiled, and set aside her book, expecting Alexander's appearance for their daily ride, which the magician-doctor called physical therapy. The excursions certainly brightened her days, and she felt stronger.

"Come in," she sang out, standing to stretch—her muscles still stiffened easily. She hadn't been paying much attention to the book, distracted by thoughts of home.

The door opened slowly, revealing wisps of blonde hair. Sarah swallowed her gasp and snapped her mouth closed.

"I knocked," the king said, face grave. It should have been comical, him so somberly apologetic and impossible to believe. "I had hoped you would ride out with me before you leave."

She forced her mouth to work—her head to nod. "All right." Sarah had thought she should try to talk to him, make an effort, perhaps acknowledge that he had obviously begun to try to listen to her, but she found her tongue tied. And he didn't really deserve much for finally giving into a few basic inquiries and courtesies. She certainly wasn't going to thank him or anything. Not really. Not in full voice, or meaning it. Sarah swallowed, feeling the color drain from her face. "It's been awhile."

"Yes, it has," he said, extending his hand.

Sarah looked at the proffered hand and shook her head minutely. She could only acknowledge so much change in him. At her side, both hands clenched into fists and relaxed. "Let's go," she said, letting the tension slip away and summoning a small smile as she preceded him out the door.

*

Heading for the garden gate, Jareth sent Pradosh forward into a swift canter. The stallion surged beneath him, wanting to charge at the little fence, but his master regulated him back, not wanting to get too far ahead of Sarah and her mare. He planned to jump the gate and then turn back to open it as he had on previous rides on this particular trail.

Five strides away from the gate, he heard Nightengale's hoof-beats quicken behind him. The stallion stiffened as he felt Sarah's mare closing the gap, straining against the bit to keep his lead. With a sharp tug and release on the reins, Jareth bit back a curse. What was the foolish girl doing? Sarah would never give her horse her head without ample room to run; she wouldn't pull the mare to halt so roughly. He pushed his mount the last two strides to hurtle over the gate, calculating a tight rollback as soon as Pradosh's front feet landed. Jareth quickly doubled back, only to see Sarah's mare, who'd never jumped a fence in her life, close the distance and leap over the gate after him.

Sarah was bringing the mare back to a quiet trot, petting her and crooning in her ear, when Jareth grabbed her reins. Their horses bumped shoulders. "What were you thinking?" he hissed past the lump in his throat. Was she reckless in his declaration of vague immortality? "You know better! You could have been hurt."

"I could have been killed." She seemed neither to believe what she said or care if she did, extricating her rein from his hand and leaning down to hug the mare's neck. Sarah rubbed her nose into the ebony mane; the black strands covered her smile. "Nightengale wanted to. I could feel it…I haven't jumped in such a long time… that soaring feeling in your stomach…" She was thanking the horse more than explaining herself to him.

Jareth felt his features tighten and fought the shadows from his face. "Promise me you will never do such a thing again."

"No." She straightened up slowly, then spoke with her chin raised, in an even, gently confident tone. "I'm not going to promise you I won't fly."

He checked his rage. Today, of all days, he must leave her with the best of him and none of his temper. He wanted them to have a pleasant outing together, something he could hold onto for the long weeks in his world when she wouldn't be there to brighten it, even in spring. "Fly?" he demanded, trying to soften as much as he could.

"Be free."

Jareth bowed his head, fixing the glow of her face in his mind's eye. "Perhaps next time you could endeavor to teach the horse to jump before you aim her at a fence."

"I know it was foolish," she said, feeling her cheeks heat, "but I'm not afraid anymore. And it felt right."

He raised his eyes. "May I then ask you a foolish question than feels right?"

Sarah nodded, but looked quizzical. He knew he shouldn't even bother to ask.

"I wondered if I might see you."

Sarah blinked. "That's what you're asking?"

"I am."

"Once," she replied. She chewed her lower lip as she thought. "I suppose you could see me once. Sometime at night. Alone. Not for very long."

"Of course," Jareth replied. He pressed his calves into Pradosh's sides, cueing the great horse to continue down the trail. Her answer was more than he ever hoped for.


End file.
